


Quest for Arcadia

by nerdytf84fan



Series: Arcadia for Modernists [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Also arthur doesn't have TB because this is the 21st century for crying out loud, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Implied Sexual Content, Evenutally, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I swear this has a happy ending, I thought I was done writing these two but n o p e, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, some canonical character death, starts with a mid-honor arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-03-07 11:10:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 114,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18872002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdytf84fan/pseuds/nerdytf84fan
Summary: After a job gone wrong, Arthur has decided to make a small town in Alaska his home. His new life in the wilderness is quite ordinary until a man by the name of Albert Mason blows into town. He's a photographer from New York City who doesn't know a single thing about survival. Albert is sure Arthur has the skillset and know-how to help him survive, but can he trust the mysterious man despite the rumors that he has a long rap sheet?It isn't until several encounters later that Arthur finally decides to help the photographer, and at first, it feels like babysitting more than anything else, but they'll both discover that maybe there's something more between them.





	1. Lay of the Land

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! 
> 
> This is a modern AU that I've been considering for a while, and I have to give a HUGE thank you to toadmaniaboy for helping me flush out some ideas! They have been a wonderful help!

The second Albert started the compact rental car, he turned up the thermostat so that the heat was at full blast. He rubbed his hands together, blew on them, and then buckled himself in. With living in New York his whole life, cold winters were nothing new to him. However, it was only October, and he had been enjoying the sixty-degree weather back home. It was no secret Alaska had colder temperatures, and while he had come prepared, there was no way he could’ve braced for the low twenty-four degrees he was feeling now.

Once the car had warmed up, he drove through town to the visitor center. He had spent hours researching the best locations for wildlife photography in Cairn, but from his experience, there was nothing that could compare to asking a local about the best spots. Google could only do so much, and there was no telling if the photographs he’d seen for different locations had been doctored up or not.

He’d gotten the information he needed from the hospitable young woman at the front desk and decided to stop by a local bar to get a feel for the town folk. Albert’s goal was to document the wildlife as well as the life of the locals. As a photojournalist, he’d always had a gnawing curiosity regarding the alleged untouched wilderness, the state most people thought of when day-dreaming about living off the grid. He knew he was taking a big risk leaving his cushiony life in the city to live in the remote town of Cairn for at least a month, but as terrifying and daunting as the task seemed, Albert was also thrilled by the idea of it. His knowledge of survival was limited, but he was confident that he could somehow manage despite his previous indulgence in modern comforts.

Albert parked in front of a rustic bar that seemed lively, even from the outside, and teeming with patrons. The cold air that hit him took his breath away as he exited the car, and he pulled his coat close before stepping inside. His eyes scanned the crowd of people and he quickly realized he stood out like a sore thumb. The patrons seemed weathered by the life they lived and were unaffected by the chilling draft that lingered from his entrance. He received more than a handful of stares, and he deduced that the town of Cairn didn’t receive many visitors.

Albert tried to offer a smile to those he made eye contact with as he took a seat at the only empty chair at the bar’s counter. As he ordered a hot toddy, he couldn’t help but notice the man beside him sizing him up. He swallowed and shifted in his seat as he tried to ignore the man’s scrutinizing gaze.

“You ain’t from around here, are you?” The stranger finally asked.

Albert looked over at him. He appeared to be the same age and he found that he couldn’t look away from his striking blue eyes. “No, I’m not.”

The man chuckled to himself before taking a swig of his whiskey. “You a city slicker?”

“I suppose you could say that,” he replied. The question was an odd one, and he wasn’t sure why he was even answering it in the first place.

He shook his head to himself as he finished off his drink and rose from his seat. The man then patted him on the back, almost sympathetically, as a small grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Best of luck to ya,”

“What an odd fellow,” Albert mused aloud to no one in particular, his brow furrowed in confusion as he watched the man saunter out of the building.

“That ‘odd fellow’, mister, was Arthur Morgan.” The bartender said as he cleared the stranger’s whiskey glasses. “You’d do best to steer clear of him.”

“And why would I do that? Is he dangerous?”

The bartender scoffed. “I’ll let you be the judge of that, but let’s just say people don’t just spontaneously move to Cairn. Usually, people move someplace nice, a place closer to Anchorage or Juneau unless your goal is to live off the land. He’s got a criminal record, although no one knows what he did other than the fact he was lucky enough to be bailed out. Rumor has it he had a _fifty-year_ sentence that was dropped. Got off scot-free.”

Albert soaked in the new information as he was handed his drink. “How long has he been living here?”

“Just over a year,”

“Has he done anything since?”

“Not that I know of,” he shrugged, “but people can get away with all sorts of things living in the middle of nowhere.”

“I appreciate the warning,” Albert said. It was more out of courtesy than anything. He wasn’t a fan of gossip, so he decided to take the bartender’s words with only a grain of salt.

By the time he finished the drink, he found that he was finally warm enough to step out into the cold again to make his way towards the Airbnb he’d booked for the next few weeks.

It took him about twenty minutes to arrive at the rustic cottage and he was thankful for finding such a beautiful place. Inside, the walls and ceiling were wood paneled, giving the single bed and bath apartment the feeling of a log cabin with a modern twist. When he had finished bringing his luggage inside, he worked at getting the wood burning stove going and settled himself on the loveseat that was nearby before pulling a throw blanket over himself. The heat rolling off the stove freed him of the cold that had gripped him moments ago, and it wasn’t long before he drifted off to sleep.

 

Arthur absentmindedly tapped his pencil against the blank page of his journal as he stared out the window of the small coffee shop. He easily found himself lost in thought as his gaze lingered on the looming snowcapped mountains. His thoughts, however, were soon interrupted as his friend, Charles, took a seat across from him.

“Here you go, dark and bitter just the way you like it.” He said as he set a cup of coffee in front of him. “Although I don’t know how you drink it like that.”

Arthur flashed a cheeky grin at him. “Well, for starters, I take it in a cup just like everyone else.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Charles replied. “And speaking of ridiculous, did you hear about the new guy in town?”

“If you’re referring to the city slicker who blew in yesterday, then yes. I was unfortunate enough to meet him.” He said.

“I give him about a week from the sounds of it.”

Arthur scoffed to himself. “I give him two days before he either leaves or manages to get himself killed.”

Charles shook his head after taking a sip from his mug. “Of all the places, why’d he even choose Cairn? I mean, we chose Cairn to put as much distance between us and Dutch after he practically abandoned you on death row.”

Arthur frowned as he stared into his coffee mug. “He bailed me out, didn’t he? I mean, he’s the one who got the judge to drop all the charges.”

“Only to keep you from talking,”

He scowled as he ignored Charles’ truthful comment. Arthur knew Charles was right, but there was still a part of him that refused to accept it. Dutch was like a father to him, surely he had left him and John behind when the job had gone south only to get Hosea to safety after he'd been shot. It was clear that Dutch had given a monetary incentive to several people to secure Arthur’s freedom, and while Charles was convinced it was to keep his mouth shut, Arthur wanted to believe otherwise.

Arthur cleared his throat in an attempt to avoid talking about it any further. “I don’t know why that city slicker would choose Cairn as his vacation getaway, but I’d bet money it’s a stupid reason.”

Charles watched him as they continued to drink their coffee. Arthur’s gaze had shifted back to the window, staring out into the distance at nothing in particular. “You really think he’ll only last two days?”

“No doubt, he’ll either go back to where he came from or wind up dead. Either way, it ain’t _my_ problem.” Arthur said.

Charles raised an eyebrow at his dismissive comment. “That’s a little cold, even for you.”

He shrugged. “That’s just how Alaska is. There’s a thousand different ways to die here.”

They soon started a new topic and Arthur excused himself after he finished his coffee. There were chores that he wanted to get done before the temperature dropped again for the night. While he was used to the cold, it didn’t change the fact that this autumn had been colder than usual, and as accustomed to it as he was, it still made daily outdoor tasks unpleasant.

His 1980s Ford Bronco started after some mild protesting and he began his drive back to his home. He kept one hand on the wheel as he admired the fiery trees that lined either side of the road. The dying leaves were absolutely radiant. The Midwest had never offered a single ounce of such beauty in autumn, and his time on the East Coast had been too short to even be able to compare the two.

As the height of the tree line decreased, his keen eyes caught a thin line of smoke in the distance. His brow furrowed as he roughly pinpointed the location of its source. The property from which the smoke was coming from had been vacant for most of the season, and as he came up on the property he decided to investigate. The owners of the apartment were his closest neighbors and some of the few people who treated him decently. Of course, they were never in town long enough to hear the latest Cairn gossip to know any better.

Arthur drove up the driveway where he found a fairly new sedan parked in front of the apartment. He eyed the car and the rest of his surroundings before finally exiting his truck and knocking on the glass paneled door.

Arthur wasn't sure who he was expecting to answer, but it certainly wasn’t the urbanite he'd encountered at the bar the night before. They stared at each other, both stunned and rendered speechless. It was Arthur who finally broke the silence by clearing his throat.

"Say, ain't you the fella I met last night who just came into town?" He asked.

"I am, and I assume you're Arthur Morgan?" The gentleman replied.

Arthur rubbed the back of his neck. "I take it you've already heard about me?"

"A little here and there, but small towns are known for their trifle gossip, right?" He offered with a smile.

"I guess so, and you are?"

"Albert Mason," he said as he shook Arthur's hand.

"Well, Mr. Mason, I apologize for interrupting your day, but I didn't realize my neighbors had rented this place out. I saw the smoke and wanted to make sure there weren't any squatters."

"I completely understand, no need to apologize."

He nodded before gesturing to the small wood pile outside. "You may want to chop some more wood before doing anything else today. That wood pile will only last you maybe a week, and winter comes quick around here."

Albert looked over at the pile Arthur was referring to. His jetlag had not been kind to him, and while he had been up since six in the morning, he had been too tired to even consider how much wood he would need for his stay.  “I was, uh, actually planning on getting some at the store today.”

Arthur scoffed at the suggestion. “You want to _buy_ your firewood? I take it you’ve never chopped a log before.” He said as he made his way over to an ax that was leaning against the nearly empty rack.

He folded his arms across his chest, feeling both exposed and mildly insulted by the accurate assumption. “Forgive me for being so inexperienced, but the average apartment in New York City lacks a wood burning stove. And even if I had one, I would have no other choice than to buy firewood because there are no trees I can legally cut down in the city.”

“So that’s where you’re from, makes sense,” Arthur smirked as he rested the ax’s handle on his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll teach you a thing or two.” Albert eyed the ax he had, its sharp blade glistening in the sun, and hesitated as he recalled the bartender’s warning. Arthur must’ve read his thoughts because the upward quirk of his lips dropped. “On second thought, I’ll just do it myself.”

Albert felt torn as the man turned away. There was no doubt in his mind that it was wise to keep some distance between himself and Arthur. He had every reason in the book not to trust him, which only made the twinge of guilt he felt even more confusing. Why did he feel, against his better judgement, so compelled to go with him? He scratched the back of his head and bit his lip as he made a split-second decision.

“Wait, let me get my camera first.” He called out before ducking back inside.

Arthur turned, unsure of what had changed the gentleman’s mind, and puzzled as to why he would even need a camera for what they were doing. "Now why are you bringing a camera?" He asked as Albert reappeared with a camera bag and a jacket that had a thickness only a tourist would wear at this time of year.

"Ah, yes," he grinned as he walked over. "I forgot to mention that I'm a photojournalist. You never know when you're going to see something worth photographing."

"I see. Grab that wheelbarrow by the rack, would you?" Arthur instructed as he began to head into the woods. "Do people really buy your photos?" He hoped that his tone hadn't sounded sarcastic. He was genuinely curious if Albert made money off something as simple as a photograph of things he thought were commonplace.

Albert shrugged as he trailed behind him, wheelbarrow in tow, trying his best to keep up with Arthur's sure and steady strides. It was a challenge, as they were the strides of someone who had thorough experience trekking through the wilderness. "Sometimes, I mostly post them on my blog or sell them to the local paper to use."

Arthur glanced at him over his shoulder. "And that pays rent?"

"Oh, heavens no! I work for a photo studio on the side. It's not my favorite thing, but it puts food on the table and keeps a roof over my head."

He grunted to himself as he stopped beside a pile of logs. "I figured, now listen and watch carefully. I'm only gonna explain this once, and I sure as hell ain't gonna do this again for you, you understand?"

Albert nodded.

"Good," he grunted as he placed a log on a chopping stump. Albert listened intently, trying to take as many mental notes as he could. Although, there truly wasn't much to it other than looking out for knots and recognizing the split in a log. It seemed easy enough, up until Arthur handed him the ax a few split logs later.

"Your turn,"

Albert studied him for a moment before taking the ax. The man had hardly broken a sweat, which led him to believe that chopping wood couldn't be that hard, right? Yet one glance at the muscles in his arms and broad shoulders had him reconsidering the thought. The ax itself weighed more than he was expecting it to, and he lined up the blade with the next log's split and swung.

While the blade had found its mark, it had wedged itself nowhere near where it needed to be. Albert furrowed his brow, brought the ax up with the log, and tried again. His effort, however, was fruitless as the ax budged only a hair.

Arthur sighed as he lit a cigarette. He stood there as Albert glanced over at him and gestured for him to continue splitting the log.

It certainly took longer than it should've, but at least Albert could say that he'd successfully split a log. However, it was clear that Arthur didn't want to be there all day as he wordlessly took the ax from Albert's hand. He wiped the sweat that had begun to bead at his brow as he watched Arthur settle into a rhythm. Arthur made it look easy, and he felt guilty for not being able to do more.

Albert scratched the back of his neck before walking over to where he had set his camera down. Had he realized they were so close to the house, he would've left it behind, but there was nothing Albert could do about it now, and so he decided he might as well snap a few photos in the meantime.

After adjusting the settings of his DSLR, he tested them by taking a picture of Arthur, catching him in an upward swing. While it had only been a test, Albert was pleasantly surprised by how well it came out. The ax was still over his shoulder, providing a clear view of his face, and the light filtering through the trees gave just the right lighting. He paused as he stared, finding himself transfixed. Arthur, however, was none the wiser as he continued chopping. Albert shook himself from his brief daze, unsure why the photo had stolen his attention for so long. He then busied himself by snapping a few other photos of the forest before returning the camera to its case and decided to help Arthur by gathering the split logs into the wheelbarrow.

It took them a while before Albert had enough to last him a few weeks, and he couldn't help but feel indebted to Arthur. He wasn't sure what had prompted Arthur's generosity, which only made him wonder what the man had been sentenced fifty years for. Sure, he was rough around the edges, but Arthur seemed like a nice enough guy. Albert shook his head as he followed him back to the house, this time the hefty wheelbarrow in Arthur's hands and the ax in his own.

"Do you drink coffee?" Albert asked as he helped stack the logs onto the rack that sat beside the apartment.

Arthur cocked an eyebrow. "I do, why?"

"Well, why don't you let me treat you to a fresh cup of coffee? It's the least I can do after the big help you've been."

He glanced at his car as he secured the tarp over the now full cord of firewood. "I dunno, I really should get going."

"Are you sure? You can take it with you if you're in a hurry."

Arthur thought it over as he took a long drag on his cigarette before exhaling the smoke in a sigh. He shook his head and stubbed the cigarette on the ground with the sole of his boot. "Fine, but only for a few minutes."

"Excellent," Albert smiled as he walked over to the front door, "come on in."

Arthur begrudgingly followed him inside and took in his surroundings. It was unsurprising that the apartment offered as many amenities as it did. For a gentleman who was incapable of efficiently chopping his own wood, Arthur reasoned that it was probably for the best.

He took a seat at the kitchen island as Albert set to work making a fresh pot of coffee. The hospitality and gratitude he had insisted upon showing him made Arthur feel awkward. He wasn't sure how to respond to it, and he settled for staring out the window in silence, content to sit there without holding a conversation.

Albert, on the other hand, felt the need to say something. He could feel the awkwardness too, and he cleared his throat after starting the coffee pot. "Do you take anything in your coffee?"

"Nope, not unless you've got some whiskey."

"Unfortunately that is one thing I don't have. Alcohol and I don't normally agree with one another."

Arthur chuckled to himself. “Well, maybe if you put on some muscle the two of you would actually get along.” He jested.

“That’s not quite what I meant.” He replied as he leaned against the counter with his eyes lowered to the floor.

Arthur studied him with a curious stare. While it wasn’t clear what Albert was referring to, Arthur knew that it wasn’t his place to ask. What _was_ clear, however, was how quickly the gentleman’s demeanor had changed. He’d gone quiet and antsy as if he regretted mentioning such a thing at all.

Arthur was considering apologizing for bringing it up when the coffee pot beeped, signaling that it had finished brewing. Albert was eager to get their coffee poured, glad to find something productive to do with his hands in order to distract himself. He passed Arthur his cup before fixing his own by adding cream and sugar.

“So, have you lived in Cairn for long?” Albert asked as he stood across from him and leaned against the island.

“About a year, give or take a few months,”

“Where’d you live before? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Arthur halted mid-sip, and his eyes narrowed as he swallowed. He had no intention of delving into his checkered past with anyone regardless of how good their intentions may have been. “I do mind, as a matter of fact.”

His sudden bristling had Albert verbally backpedaling. “My apologies,” he stuttered, “I just, Cairn’s such an odd town to move to. It’s so desolate and—”

“That’s the point.” Arthur snapped, suddenly tired of his stammering. “Why are you so damn nosey?”

Albert flinched from the question. “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to start a conversation is all.”

“Well, quit trying,”

He furrowed his brow at the stinging comment and watched Arthur in stunned silence as he continued to drink his coffee. Albert’s gaze then lowered to his own cup as he second-guessed his decision to invite the brusque man over for coffee. However, he was too stubborn for his own good to give up finding some common ground with Arthur just yet. “I’m planning on photographing some of the wildlife tomorrow. As a local, are there any spots in particular you would recommend?”

Arthur rolled his eyes but gave in to his second attempt at a casual conversation. “Yeah, there’s a few, although you’ll need to take a gun with you to most of them.”

“A gun? Why on earth would I bring a firearm with me?”

“For starters, self-defense. The people around here can get hostile if rubbed the wrong way. The bears around here are also getting ready for winter, which makes them less picky about the food they eat and how they get it. Some even get less skittish around humans, although they ain’t as bad as the lone wolves around here.” He paused as he eyed him. “You _did_ bring a gun, didn’t you?”

“Please, I’m from New York City. Do you know how arduous the process is to even get a license?”

Arthur swore under his breath. “Of course, you don’t have a gun.”

“I’m sorry my only intention was to live among the locals and take photos.” Albert huffed. Arthur’s curtness was beginning to wear on his patience. It was one thing if it was unintentional, but he had the feeling that Arthur was purposefully wearing an antagonistic veneer. It only made him wonder who Arthur Morgan truly was. There was something that he was hiding, and Albert could tell he only wanted people to see him as the brute of a man that he painted himself to be.

So, who was he really? A criminal, or a man capable of true kindness?

Regardless of whatever the answer might be, Albert was determined to find out. He blamed it on his love for photojournalism, but if he was honest with himself, he was simply curious.

Arthur shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to find someone to protect you.”

Albert’s head tilted as he brought his mug to his lips. “Excuse me?”

“Well, you’ll need someone who knows the land, as well as how to rough it, _and_ has a firearm.”

“Forgive me for being so bold, but I thought maybe you might be that someone.”

A sudden gust of laughter escaped from him. “ _Me?_ You’re more naïve than I thought, city slicker!”

“Why not?” Albert asked, struggling to keep his tone pleasant. “I certainly don’t have the time to search for someone else who’s safe and reliable, so it’s either you or no one.”

Arthur stared hard at him as he rose to his feet. “Best of luck to you then,”

Albert skirted around the island to grab hold of Arthur’s arm before he could leave. “Wait! What if I paid you?”

He raised an eyebrow as he stared at him, unsure of what made Albert so determined to have him, of all people, help him. “Are you serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He asked, playing dumb.

“You’ve heard the rumors,”

“And they’re just rumors, aren’t they? Just mere speculations?” 

Arthur didn’t answer as his gaze shifted to the hand on his arm before pulling away. “Find someone else. The gunsmith in town will be able to point you in the right direction.”

Albert’s coffee had gone cold as he sat at the kitchen island, his hands folded as he rested his chin against them in pensive thought. The encounter had left him confused. Arthur was a puzzle with contradictory pieces that seemed forced together as if he was a man he didn’t want to be and yet chose to continue being. Albert sighed. Arthur was, no doubt, a conundrum, but Albert was determined to figure him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read this fic! I'm excited to write out the rest of this, and I already have most of it outlined.
> 
> I'm not sure how many chapters this will be, and while it may have the feel of a slow burn, it probably won't be as long. I'm thinking there will be close to six chapters at least.
> 
> Once again, thank you thank you thank you toadmaniaboy for all your help! I recommend checking out their cute 2am fic that you can find on their profile!


	2. Serendipity

The temperature had dropped over the course of a few days, averaging in the high twenties. It was an unusual drop, and Arthur could only guess that a bitterly cold winter was on its way. The thick, gray blanket of clouds promised snow sometime that week, and Arthur scoffed to himself as his thoughts drifted to Albert. The photographer had no idea what he was getting into. Winter in Alaska wasn’t for the faint of heart, especially city slickers. The season was always brutal, and it was coming early this year.

As Arthur drove around the bend, a car with its hazards on parked along the side of the road in the distance caught his eye, and he slowed down when he saw the man leaned against the sedan with a cellphone in his hands. He groaned as he realized it was Albert and saw the flat tire that had caused him to park along the side of the road. With a sigh, he decided to pull off and park his truck just behind Albert’s rental. The gentleman looked up from his phone, his eyes lighting up as Arthur walked over to him.

“Oh thank heavens! Hello, Arthur!” He said.

“I see you’ve managed to get a flat,” Arthur said as he glanced at the phone in his hands. “Let me guess, you haven’t the slightest idea as to how to change a tire?”

Albert scratched the back of his neck as he put his cellphone away. “Is it that obvious?”

“No, not one bit,” he smirked as he opened up the trunk to pull out the spare, the jack, and tire iron that came with the car.

Albert studied him, once again surprised by his readiness to step in and help. After their last conversation, he had assumed Arthur wanted nothing to do with him. And yet here he was, already loosening the lug nuts without Albert even asking him to and setting the jack in place.

“As much as I appreciate your help, you don’t have to do that, you know?” Albert said. It was a halfhearted attempt to alleviate the burden he thought he was on Arthur, and while he was incredibly grateful for Arthur’s help, he didn’t enjoy feeling helpless. His stay in Alaska hadn’t been as smooth as he expected it to be, and so far, Arthur had been the one fixing his problems as they arose, one after the other. Albert was finding out more and more that he wasn’t the outdoor adventurer he thought he was, and the realization did no favors for his anxious nature. After all, Arthur couldn’t be there to rescue him all the time.

Arthur paused and gave him a doubtful look. “Do you really want to be out here for over an hour, in the cold, trying to figure this out without cell service?”

“No, I guess not,” Albert sighed as he knelt down beside him.

“Then don’t make me second-guess myself. Trust me, I’d rather be on the road still and driving to Lake Isabella.”

He tilted his head at the mention of the lake, surprised by the serendipitous situation he’d found himself in. “Wait, you’re going to Lake Isabella?”

“Yeah, it’s got some good fishing spots. Why? Were you heading that way?”

“I was, actually. I’ve been told it’s a very scenic place, and I wanted to take some photos.”

“Well,” Arthur grunted as he pulled off the flat tire and aligned the spare in its place, “this donut tire sure as hell ain’t gonna get you there. Why don’t you ride with me?”

Albert was speechless as he found himself utterly stunned by the offer. He thought he was nothing but a nuisance to him, a pesky insect that Arthur was unfortunate enough to keep running into. While the assumption may have held a grain of salt, he somehow didn’t totally grate on Arthur’s nerves. Otherwise, Arthur wouldn’t have offered him a ride.

“I don’t know, are you sure? I feel like such a blunderer.”

“Oh, come on, either you do, or you don’t. It ain’t that complicated!” he huffed as he tightened the lug nuts.

“As long as you don’t mind, I would certainly appreciate the lift!”

Arthur nodded towards his truck. “It’s unlocked, go make yourself comfortable while I wrap this up.”

Albert was more than willing to comply, still finding the brisk air too cold for his liking. He retrieved his camera bag and a few other things from the car before indulging in Arthur’s simple request. As he settled into his seat he noticed that while the truck’s HVAC system was out of date, he was more than grateful for the warmth it provided. Albert’s gaze lingered on Arthur a moment longer before he studied the truck’s interior. It was surprisingly neat. Other than a wrapper here and a receipt there, he found that the place was spotless. The classic was well-loved, and the only thing unappealing about it was the smell of cigarette smoke that clung to the upholstery.

He watched as Arthur straightened himself and placed the ruined tire in the trunk along with everything else. He then used his pants to wipe the grease off his hands, clearly not caring too much about the appearance of his jeans. Arthur then stepped inside and shut the door before rubbing some warmth back into his hands and turned the engine over until it finally started.

“So how far away are we?” Albert asked as they pulled back onto the road.

“Maybe fifteen minutes at most,” he answered, “you were nearly there! I can’t tell if you’ve got bad or good luck.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I have a bit of both! There have been a few bumps in the road, but you always show up just at the right time.”

“Then maybe _I’m_ the one with the bad luck!” He grinned, his tone light and teasing rather than malicious.

“Perhaps, but know that whatever it is that you have is extremely helpful and timely!”

“Duly noted,”

Albert chuckled to himself as he relaxed into his seat. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Mr. Morgan.” The comment had slipped, rolling off his tongue without a second thought, and he tried to make a quick recovery with further clarification. “Unfortunately, Google is only helpful when you have access to it. Goodness, the things you take for granted when you live in the city!”

Arthur eyed him curiously with a raised eyebrow for a moment, easily picking up on his nervousness. “Sure,”

The lake they drove up to was more scenic than Albert had expected it to be. The trees surrounding the lake had fully donned their autumnal regalia, and crimson bushes lined the golden tree line and yellowing grass. As he stared, Albert felt silly for worrying about the landscape being less vibrant than the photos he’d seen, realizing that no photo could ever do the wilderness’ natural beauty justice.

Arthur parked the car and looked over at Albert. His mouth had fallen open, and he was staring out the window, clearly transfixed by what he saw. The genuine awe written on his face was amusing, and he chuckled to himself as he withdrew the key from the ignition. “You’ll catch flies with your mouth hanging open like that, you know.”

Albert was quick to close his mouth as he smiled a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry, but the closest thing I’ve seen to this is the Adirondack mountains. Although, it’s about a five-hour drive to get there from where I live. I only ever get to see them every once in a blue moon.”

“And that’s why I never preferred living in the city.” He said as he grabbed his telescopic fishing rod, a bucket, and his tackle box from the back before stepping out.

Albert’s ears couldn’t help but prick up at the brief glimpse into Arthur’s life before Alaska. He turned it over in his head several times, recalling Arthur’s words like a broken record. Yet he dared not to mention it. As tempting as it was, Albert knew better than to pry, so instead, he shrugged on his camera bag as he followed him over to the lake that was a short distance away. “What mountain range is that?”

“That is the Ambarino. It’s about thirty-five miles above Cairn and stretches out just over two-hundred.”

“Is that so? Are there any good hiking trails that follow it?”

Arthur looked over his shoulder at him as if he had suddenly grown two heads. “Are you crazy? Do you realize how dangerous hiking those mountains at this time of year can be for someone like you? Shit, is there any self-preservation instinct in you at all?”

“Perhaps not as much as there should be.” Albert offered.

His only response was a shake of his head as he set his tackle box on top of a large rock on the shore.

Albert watched him as he cast his line out into the turquoise blue water. Not once in his life had he understood why people enjoyed fishing, but as he looked out at the lake with the backdrop of the snowcapped Ambarino mountains, he found that he could see at least why people found it relaxing. Between the sound of the nearby river feeding into the lake and birds calling to one another, Albert found the tension in his shoulders dissipate little by little with each second that passed.

He eventually pulled his camera out of its bag and took a look at the settings before testing them once again on Arthur who was now sitting on the rock. The angle he was at caught most of Arthur’s back with the lake and mountains as the backdrop. The contrast between the snowy peaks, yellowing trees, and the bright blue lake was simply stunning, and Arthur’s figure in the foreground broke up the background quite nicely. The color of his tanned leather complimented the scenery, and Albert couldn’t help but notice how the jacket also complimented his broad shoulders.

Albert shook the thought before smiling to himself, pleased with his own work, and walked around to take some more photos. It was after he had snapped a few photos of the lake and mountains when he heard Arthur begin to hum a familiar tune. Albert lowered the camera and listened as he tried to make it out. The corners of his mouth lifted into a grin when he identified it.

“Are you humming Johnny Cash?” He asked with a hint of amusement as he looked up at Arthur.

He jumped at the question as he was reminded of Albert’s presence. “Yeah, an appreciation for the oldies is the only good thing my daddy ever passed down.”

Albert studied him for a moment. Even from where he stood he could see the way Arthur’s mouth had set in a firm line, and Albert made a mental note to keep his distance from the topic until he felt he had Arthur’s permission to approach it. “It’s fitting,”

“Is it now?” Arthur asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Absolutely, it suits your personality _and_ your truck.” He chuckled. “Now, what music do you think _I_ listen to?”

Arthur thought it over as he scratched his bearded jaw. “A city slicker like you who thinks he loves the outdoors? I’d say you like something between folk and alternative.”

“Close, I prefer indie-folk.”

He laughed. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

The two of them continued their own choice activity. Arthur only kept the fish worth eating and when he felt he had caught enough, he glanced over at Albert to find him sitting on the shingle beach hunched over his camera. Curious, he collapsed his fishing pole and walked over to him.

“Any photos you take worth keeping?”

“A few, I guess,” Albert replied as he looked up at him. “They’ll need some thorough editing, though, as I am a talentless fool.”

Arthur’s nose wrinkled at his self-disparaging comment. Holding out his hand, he wiggled his fingers for Albert to hand over the camera. “Let me see, if you don’t mind.”

Albert hesitated before finally passing the camera over to him.

Arthur straightened himself as he stared at the LCD screen. As he scrolled through the photos, he found himself taken by surprise. It hadn’t crossed his mind that Albert was skilled but looking at his work now had him convinced that the photographer beside him had a natural talent. When he came to a photo of the Ambarino mountains peeking behind some wildflowers Albert had positioned in the foreground, he took a double take and let out a low whistle.

Albert wasn’t sure how to interpret the reaction. The man standing above him wasn’t easy to read in the slightest. His walls were high, and his sarcastic wit made it difficult to determine when he was serious or joking.

He scratched the back of his neck as he felt his chest tighten, second-guessing his decision to let Arthur look at his photos at all. “What?”

“I’ve sat staring at those mountains over a thousand times, and not once did I ever see them the way you’ve framed them just now. It’s amazing!”

For a second, Albert thought he was imagining what he’d heard. When it finally occurred to him that he did hear Arthur right, it took another moment for Albert to realize that he wasn’t joking. He stumbled over his words as he thanked him, completely taken off guard by the genuine and unexpected compliment. The reaction earned a chuckle from Arthur as he gave the camera back to him.

Arthur got to work cleaning the fish he’d caught and looked over at Albert who was putting his camera away. “Hey, you want to bring some of these back with you to cook? That is if you know how, of course.”

Albert rolled his eyes. “Please, I’m not that incompetent! Of course, I know how to cook. It’s one of the few things I’m actually good at.”

“Is that so?” Arthur grinned as he brought his gear back to the truck, fish and all. “Well, I s’pose I’ll have to take your word for it, won’t I?”

There was something in his tone that made Albert swear it was a challenge, but the way Arthur carried on so nonchalantly confused him. “I guess so, unless you’d rather see for yourself? I don’t mind cooking dinner as a way to repay you for your help.”

Arthur chuckled to himself as they both stepped into the car. “I appreciate the offer, but no thanks.”

“Of course,” By now Albert was certain he had no reading on the man, and he only hoped he’d somehow figure him out before he had to leave for New York.

“I do have one question, though,” he started as he pulled onto the road, “you’ve no doubt heard the rumors about me by now, correct?”

“I have,”

Arthur took his eyes off the road to cast a scrutinizing stare his way. “So then why are you so set on hanging around me?”

“I beg your pardon?” Albert asked with a furrowed brow.

“You seem completely unfazed by whatever you’ve heard, and I can’t decide if that’s because you’re an idiot or…”

Albert studied him as he went silent. “Or?”

“Forget it,” Arthur muttered. He had set his hard stare on the road, and Albert was glad that his piercing look hadn’t landed on him. Arthur’s gaze was intense, although he couldn’t figure out what had caused his demeanor to make the sharp change.

As much as Albert wanted to say something to break the charged silence, he was unable to find the words that he wanted to say. It was, he reasoned, probably better that way. With Arthur being as prickly as he was, it was best to leave him be. The stifling silence no doubt made for a longer ride, but Albert concluded that it was best to deal with the quiet in order to avoid stirring up the man’s unpredictable irritability. He was thankful when his rental car appeared around the bend and Arthur slowed down as he pulled up beside it.

“There’s an auto repair shop in Cairn by the only gas station. They should have a tire close enough to match the other three to last you a while.” Arthur said.

“Thank you, for everything.”

Arthur stiffened just a hair and looked over at him as if he was taken off guard by his sincere appreciation. “Don’t mention it,”

Albert nodded before exiting the truck. As he watched it drive down the road, he couldn’t help but notice that the more time he spent with Arthur, the less he understood the strange man. He’d never encountered anyone like him, not even in New York City. It was bizarre, even disconcerting at times, and the only consolation was that Arthur still tolerated him regardless of how often Albert had accidentally annoyed him.

 

 

As Arthur locked his truck, he found himself pleasantly surprised that the weather had warmed up some. For a brief moment, he regretted going fishing yesterday instead of waiting another day, but quickly brushed the thought aside as he recalled his outing with Albert. There was no telling what would have happened to the gentleman if he hadn’t been going to the same place. A part of him hoped that, somehow, Albert would have figured out how to change a tire, but his doubts far outweighed that hope.

He unzipped his coat as he entered the coffee shop and sat at his usual table where Charles was already sitting. His friend looked up from the book he was reading, and his eyebrows pulled together in thought.

“Morning, Arthur, are you alright?”

Arthur nodded. “Sure, why?”

“You seem tired,”

“I’m fine,”

Charles wasn’t convinced, but he dropped the subject. “A letter from John came in the mail yesterday.”

He sat up straighter in his seat at the mention of John. It had been at least a month since they’d last heard from him, and Arthur had started to worry something had happened to John and his family. “How are they?”

“About the same, they’re still trying to get settled in Colorado Springs but other than that they’re fine. Or at least that’s what John says.”

“Has John been able to find any decent work this time?”

“There was mention of applying for a construction job. He says they aren’t too picky about who they hire, which will help him keep a low profile.”

Arthur nodded to himself and relaxed against the back of his chair. He felt a twinge of guilt over John being dragged into his mess. John had been too stubborn to leave with Dutch and the rest of the gang, had been about as stubborn as a mule when he refused to abandon him, but his staying behind and being able to escape last minute had given him a hefty warrant for his arrest. Only Arthur and Charles knew where he was, and the plan was to keep it that way for John, Jack, and Abigail’s safety.

Charles studied him closely, easily detecting the shift in his thoughts. “Are you sure you’re alright, Arthur?”

“Yeah, just tired. I’ve been helping that city slicker, turns out he’s my temporary next-door neighbor.” He paused as he fidgeted with the watch around his wrist. “He just might last longer than I thought he would.”

The comment brought a small smile to Charles’ face, but it quickly disappeared when he looked out the window beside their table. “Are you sure about that one?” He asked.

Arthur furrowed his brow as he followed his gaze and swore as he found Albert cornered by three men, one of them with a large coffee stain on his shirt that looked fresh. They had surrounded Albert, pinning him to the side of their car by the collar of his shirt. With a groan, Arthur curtly excused himself and made his way over to them in quick strides.

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t see you by the door, honest! It was my mistake I—”

“You’re damn right it was your mistake!” The stranger snarled as he gave Albert a rough shake.

Arthur seized the man by his shoulder and pulled him off Albert. While he held the man with a vice-like grip, he kept up a calm façade. “Easy, fellas, how about I treat you all to a drink, hm? Fifteen bucks each if you just walk away.”

The man with the stained shirt glanced at Albert before making eye contact with Arthur, giving him a once over look as a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You sweet on this cheechako, jailbird?”

Arthur’s anger ignited like a match set to kerosene, and without hesitation, he swung hard, his fist making heavy contact with the stranger’s temple and knocking him out cold. The man’s two friends were stunned as they stared on. Arthur straightened his jacket and gave both of them twenty bucks each as an incentive to keep them silent about their exchange before pulling Albert away by his shoulders and guiding him into the coffee shop.

“Thank you, Arthur, I don’t know how you always manage to swoop in at just the right time.” Albert stammered breathlessly as he fixed his collar. “At this rate, I will most certainly be eternally in your debt!”

“Don’t worry about it,” he grumbled as he pulled a chair over to their table for him. Albert thanked him again as he took a seat, removing his flat cap to run a trembling hand through his dark waves.

Charles watched them both with a curious stare as Arthur sat down again. “Do I want to know what he said?”

“No, and frankly even if you did, I ain’t gonna repeat it.” Arthur huffed.

“That’s fair,”

“Charles, this is Albert Mason, the city slicker who’s come to photograph the Alaskan wilderness. Albert, this is my friend Charles Smith.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Albert said.

“Likewise,” Charles replied as he shook his outstretched hand.

The photographer flashed him a smile before he glanced at Arthur. “How do you two know each other?”

“He’s a friend from work,” Arthur answered.

Albert tilted his head, suddenly curious. “What kind of work?”

“Banking,” Charles said before shooting a pointed look at Arthur, “although we decided to quit when we discovered our boss wasn’t who he said he was.”

 Arthur frowned at the comment but said nothing other than he was going to order himself a coffee. He rose from his seat and walked over to the barista. While Albert noticed the brief exchange and intentional vague answers, he decided that it was best for him to say nothing of it.

“Have you known Arthur for long?” Albert asked.

“I’ve known him for about three years now,” he replied, “don’t let his gruff exterior fool you. A lot has happened in the last few years.”

“I figured that may have been the case,”

Arthur returned with a cup of coffee in hand and sat in his seat. “Were you able to get that tire replaced?”

“I was, they were incredibly helpful! Thank you once again for your help. In fact, that reminds me,” he said as he rummaged through his bag before pulling out a five by seven photograph, “here, a print of the Ambarino mountains. It’s for you. I don’t have much money on me to repay you, but I hope this will do.”

Arthur took it from him and admired the photograph. “That’s real fine, city slicker.”

“Well thank you,” he replied, beaming from ear to ear.

As he continued to stare at the print, he could feel Charles’ eyes on him. Arthur looked up and passed the photo over for him to look at.

“It’s beautiful, you’ve got quite an eye.” He said before giving it back to Arthur.

“I appreciate that, Charles,”

Arthur stared out the window and was pleased to find that the three strangers from earlier had left. “Well, it’s clear to leave if you want to. I don’t think they’ll bother you again.”

“They would certainly be fools if they did,” Albert replied as he stood, “thank you very much once again, Arthur. I can’t thank you enough.”

He dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. “It was nothing, you take care now.”

“And you as well,”

Arthur watched the gentleman leave the coffee shop and waited until he had gotten into his car before starting his conversation with Charles again. “I also got a letter yesterday.”

“From?”

“Dutch,”

He gave him a warning look. “Arthur…”

“I’m thinking of flying out to New York,”

A deep crease formed between Charles’ brows. “Are you serious? We’ve talked about this!”

“I know, I just…I guess I just miss Hosea.” He missed all of them, Dutch included. Well, all except for Micah. Arthur didn’t trust the man one bit, but somehow Dutch saw something in him.

“I can’t stop you from going, but please be careful while you’re out there.” Charles looked around for any potential eavesdroppers before lowering his voice to a mere whisper. “You may not have a warrant for your arrest, and sure, your charges were dropped, but you still took the blame for killing those people.”

“You don’t think I know that?” He hissed. “I appreciate your concern, honest, but I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have.”

“I don’t need years under my belt to recognize a bad idea when I see one.” Charles scoffed.

Arthur shook his head and rose from his seat. “I’ll see you in a week, Charles.”


	3. Sons of Dutch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! Just a friendly FYI, Mary Linton is in this chapter. However, she isn't a love interest whatsoever. I despise love triangles, and I wanted to bring her into the picture to showcase Arthur's insecurities. :)
> 
> Also, this chapter has a LOT of Micah. I promise there'll be 2am fluff in the next chapter <3

Arthur watched the crowd as he stood in line at the car rental place. His flight to New York City had been about as pleasant as expected. It was crowded and full of endless noise. Even now, he felt bombarded by it, like a trapped animal in a cage. There was a striking difference between Cairn and New York City, and the constant busyness of the people around him made his skin itch. Arthur fidgeted with the sleeves of his shirt as he continued to wait, and for a brief moment, he almost regretted not having a cell phone to distract him from the suffocating noise around him.

A hand on his arm startled him, and he was quick to turn to see who it was. Arthur recognized the woman instantly, his jaw falling open ever so slightly as his brow furrowed. “ _Mary?_ ”  

She offered him a sheepish smile. “Hello, Arthur,”

He looked around him before meeting her eyes again. It had been a while since they’d crossed paths, nearly five years at the very least. Arthur and the gang had been in Alabama the last time he had seen her face to face, and the last thing he heard from her was that she was marrying a successful businessman. “What are you doing here? Where’s what’s his name?”

Arthur, of course, knew the man’s name. How could he forget the name of the gentleman who was able to give her everything he couldn’t? The man who was everything he failed to be? Arthur didn’t mind the fact that Mary had moved on, in fact, he was happy for her, but it had been a reminder that he wasn’t good enough, had never been good enough.

Would never be good enough, not for anyone.

“He died of cancer a while back. It wasn’t caught in time and, well, it spread all over.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,”

“Me too,” her eyes lowered to the ground as if recalling the terrible memory before they flitted back up to his, “but to answer your first question, Jamie’s attending NYU now and I’m visiting him during his three-day weekend.”

“Good on him,” he smiled.

“And what are _you_ doing here? I thought you ran off somewhere out west.”

“I did, although I’m afraid I can’t say where.”

Disappointment clouded her features. “You’re still with that gang, aren’t you?”

He sighed. “It’s complicated,”

“It really ain’t,”

The condescending tone in her voice was all too familiar. Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he took a step toward her, his irritation bubbling to the surface. “Now, don’t you start that with me! Your husband may have died, and I am truly sorry for your loss, but don’t expect me to fill his little goody-two-shoes.”

With an unwavering gaze, she folded her arms across her chest. “It ain’t like that, and you know it!”

He heard the employee call him up, and he heaved a sigh before excusing himself to grab a rental car. The gentleman was quick to get him set up with a Jeep, and when he was handed the keys, Arthur went back over to where Mary was still standing.

“Why are you still here?”

“Well, I was hoping you would give me a ride to Jamie’s dorm and prove that you’re still a gentleman.” A smile had returned to her face, indicating it was more of a friendly challenge than an insult.  

He rolled his eyes, but a grin pulled at the corner of his mouth anyway. “What do you take me for, a crook?”

“Sometimes,” she chuckled. “So, think you can give me a ride?”

Arthur knew she had other reasonable options to get to NYU, and he was well aware that he had every right to say no, yet, he was too much of a sucker to do so. His feelings for her had long since run their course, but she was still his friend. A friend who was only asking for a small favor. “Sure, why not?”

Their conversation during the forty-minute drive had been surprisingly pleasant. Mary had, of course, made a few teasing remarks to which Arthur would either respond in kind or simply take it in stride. Her comments never bothered him when said in jest. If anything, they were like water off a duck’s back. He parked along the side of the road when they arrived at the dorm Jamie was staying in, and Mary paused after placing a hand on the door handle.

“Thank you, Arthur,”

“Don’t mention it, tell Jamie I say hi,”

She nodded. “I will,”

He watched her walk into the lobby before inputting the address Dutch had given him into the Jeep’s GPS and began his long drive by getting onto Route 9a. From what he could tell, the gang had holed up somewhere along the New York and Connecticut border close to the middle of nowhere, or at least the closest thing to the middle of nowhere. Arthur found it odd that Dutch hadn’t found a place farther from the city. Last he’d heard, the man had liked cities just as much as he did, finding them repellent and suffocating. The only big cities he’d remotely enjoyed had been Denver and Salt Lake City, and it was only because both had a breathtaking backdrop of the mountains.

It took over an hour to get to the house that was tucked away in the woods. As he drove up the gravel driveway, his eyes settled on the lake behind the house. From the looks of it, the property was extensive, having one main house and three guest apartments. Arthur shook his head as he parked, unsure how Dutch was lucky enough to get such a nice place.

Javier was already stepping outside with his hand on his hip to investigate as Arthur exited the Jeep and walked over to him. He was no doubt armed, but his hand fell from his side as he recognized him, his shoulders relaxing as he stood on the front porch. “Arthur! It’s good to see you!” He beamed as he pulled him into an embrace.

“Likewise,” he pulled away after a brief moment and took in his surroundings. “This is quite a place you’ve got here.”

“You know how Dutch is. We may fall into shit, but he always manages to get us smelling like roses.”

“Yeah, that sounds like the Dutch I know.”

“Come on, why don’t you come inside? Pearson’s almost finished with dinner.”

Arthur followed him inside as he glanced at his watch, not realizing how late it was. For him, it was still two o’clock in the afternoon. He had momentarily forgotten about the four-hour time difference, but regardless of the difference between lunch and dinner, he was looking forward to eating Pearson’s cooking once again.

When they stepped into the dining room, he felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth as he stared at the people who were the closest thing he had to family. Dutch, who was sitting at the head of the table as expected, instantly rose to his feet. His surprise was written all over his face, and Arthur couldn’t help but smirk at the fact he’d rendered the man speechless.

“Arthur! My boy, what a surprise! Why don’t you sit yourself down and join us?” He said.

“I would be happy to,” Arthur replied as he took a seat beside Lenny who gave him a welcoming pat on the shoulder and greeted him with a ‘good to see you’.

They were all glad to see him. All except Micah, anyway. Although he put on a good face and flashed a smile that looked more like a grimace. Regardless, the room was full of lively chatter and excitement over his unexpected return. He was asked dozens of questions, most of which he answered. There were a few questions here and there about John and Charles that he had to answer vaguely. While these people were like family to him, there was sensitive information that absolutely could not get leaked. With Micah being in the room, Arthur refused to divulge too much of what he knew.

Arthur was more than happy, however, to be eating Pearson’s food again. Good homecooked meals were something he missed, and he couldn’t replicate it for the life of him. He’d tried following recipes, and his cooking had never been terrible, but it certainly wasn’t the same. Although, amongst the familiar warmth of sharing a meal with people Arthur knew far too well, it was strange being back. It was as if he had returned to a place he called home only to find the furniture rearranged and replaced. As he looked around at the familiar friendly faces, he could feel the weighty absence of Charles and the Marstons. It wasn’t the same without them, and it troubled him that he felt that way. The gang felt different, and the thought caused Arthur to feel a tightness in his chest. For the longest time, the Van der Linde gang had been home, and now it felt more like a cheap hotel than anything else.

He finished the last of his meal and what remained of the whiskey in his glass in an attempt to ignore his disquieting thoughts. Arthur chipped in as they began to clean up, hoping that the menial task would help distract him. As he dried his hands on a dish towel, he saw Hosea walk out onto the back porch. Arthur excused himself and followed, hoping to catch a moment alone with the man who was the closest thing he had to a father.

A breeze rustled the leaves as he stepped outside, their colors muted by the fading light of dusk. With winter on its way, only a few birds could be heard. Arthur felt more than comfortable in his flannel, and he was thankful for the cool fifty-degree weather compared to Alaska’s lows that averaged around thirty. Hosea, on the other hand, clearly thought otherwise. He had put on a heavy coat, and there was a blanket over his legs as he sat on a bench. Arthur chuckled to himself as he sat beside him.

“So, Arthur, what’s it like being back after a year?” Hosea asked.

He mulled over his answer as he stared out at the lake as it reflected the fading pinks and oranges of the sunset. Hosea was one of the few people he felt he could be honest with. Arthur trusted him and his wisdom more than anything else. Hosea's sage counsel always eased his nerves and provided him with a balanced perspective. “It’s hard to explain. I’ve missed this, don’t get me wrong, but it feels different after being gone for so long.”

Hosea pondered his statement for a moment before responding. “I understand, you and Charles have learned how to make it on your own in a land like Alaska. That’s not something to bat an eye at. You’ve created your own life out there, it’s no wonder coming back feels strange.”

He nodded. “I have missed you, though. All of you,”

The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. “I’ve missed you too, Arthur. You’re the only one willing to go along with my shenanigans.”

Arthur couldn’t help but scoff. “And that surprises you?”

“Aw c’mon Fenton,” he smirked as he took on a southern dialect, “don’t be like that now!”

He gave him a light jab with his elbow as he laughed. “I still can’t believe that gimmick fooled those people in Charlotte.”

“And that’s why you leave the thinking to me,”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, old man,”

The chuckle that left Hosea quickly turned into a nasty fit of coughing. Arthur studied him as he recovered, and his smile was quickly replaced by a concerned look. The slight cough that he knew lingered with him wasn’t new, but Arthur never recalled it sounding as bad as it did now.

Hosea seemed to read his mind as he held up a hand. “I’m fine, Arthur, these lungs just aren’t what they used to be.”

“Is it from the bullet you took in Richmond?”

“Maybe, maybe it’s the cold air or just old age, but don’t worry about me. I’ve had this cough for a long while now.”

“Have you thought about having that looked at?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

Hosea shook his head. “We don’t have that kind of luxury, Arthur, and the way I see it, we all have to die from something eventually.”

Arthur looked up at the stars that had begun to peek through the clear night sky. As much as he knew Hosea was right, he didn’t want to think about that right now, didn’t want to consider the emotional toll that would take on him. His gaze dropped to his boots before flitting over to Hosea. “Well, let’s hope that ain’t gonna be for a while.”

“Trust me, I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon.”

“I hope not, goodnight Hosea,” he said as he stood.

“Goodnight, Arthur,”

Arthur stepped inside and found Dutch at the dining table alone. Most of the lights were off except for a few that cast a warm glow on the table and the chess board that sat in front of him. Arthur leaned against the wall as he studied the curious sight.

“What are you doing, Dutch?” He finally asked.

“I’m playing chess, what does it look like I’m doing?” He replied stiffly, his eyes glued on the marble black and white pieces.

Arthur continued to watch in silence for a while, unsure of what to make of Dutch’s strange behavior. “I know Hosea doesn’t want to see a doctor, but you all should really take him to get looked at. He sounds like he’s getting worse.”

Dutch let out a huff, his eyes flicking up to him for the first time since he’d entered the dining room. “You don’t think I know that, Arthur? It ain’t easy looking after so many people _and_ avoiding the law. Taking him to a doctor is only going to bring unwanted attention to us. Miss Grimshaw is doing her best, and we’re using natural remedies. Hosea will be fine.”

Arthur didn’t say a word as he watched Dutch move a rook to take a queen. What else could he say? If both of them claimed to have the situation under control, there was no amount of convincing he could do to have them think otherwise. They were both stubborn, more so than Arthur was. Dutch moved another piece and sighed, gesturing for him to have a seat in the chair next to him.

“Listen, son, there aren’t enough words to express how much you mean to me, how much _all_ of you mean to me. I would fight tooth and nail for each of you, go through hell and high water to make sure not a single soul lays a hand on _any_ of you. Hosea will be fine, but you have to _trust_ me.”

“Yes, but Dutch—”

“No buts! Have some damn faith, Arthur!”

Arthur bit his tongue to keep a snarky remark at bay. He knew Dutch cared about them, but usually, he was able to see the method to his madness. Yet as Arthur watched him play his chess game by himself, all he saw was madness. He wasn’t sure what to make of the situation, but he knew that he had no say on the matter. He was only visiting for a few days, and then he would be gone again. Whatever the Van der Linde gang decided was no longer his business no matter how concerned he was for their welfare.

The sound of the backdoor opening pulled him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see Hosea hanging his winter coat up on a hook. He coughed as he walked over to Arthur and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “You must be tired from your travels. Why don’t I show you where you’ll be sleeping, hm?”

After grabbing his things from the car, Arthur followed him up to the second floor and down the hall to a guest bedroom. It was smaller than what he was used to, but he was grateful nonetheless for the privacy he would have. There was only one bed, and the room looked mostly untouched.

“This is where Trelawney usually stays when he visits, but it’s yours while you’re here,” Hosea said.

“Thank you,” he said as he set his bag down.

 “Of course,” he paused as he eyed Arthur’s travel bag, “how long do you plan on staying anyway?”

Arthur shrugged. “A few days, maybe a week, why? Are you trying to get rid of me?”

The sarcasm in his answer was lost on Hosea who looked deep in thought. “No, Arthur, you have no idea how nice it’s been having you around again, but I think the distance you put between you and the gang has been good for you. Hell, you’ve seen how Dutch is. Honestly, I’m not sure how much longer this whole thing is going to last, and I know somewhere in that mind of yours you’re thinking the same thing.”

His eyes lowered to the floor. He knew the man was right, he’d seen it himself in the few hours he’d spent with the gang. It felt like the group was walking on thin ice that was already beginning to crack. “I don’t know, Hosea. I’m not much of a thinker.”

“Don’t give me that, I know you like to hide behind the angry moron act, but it’s a thin veneer. There’s nothing good at the end of this, and it’s time to start thinkin’, Arthur, before it’s too late.”

Arthur let out a frustrated sigh. “So, come with me then!”

“I’m afraid these old lungs wouldn’t fare well in Alaska.”

“It don’t have to be Alaska! We could go to Arizona or Texas for crying out loud!”

“As tempting as that is, Dutch needs me here for now. The whole gang needs as many level-headed people it can get after you took most of them with you.” He said as he gave Arthur a light swat on his arm. “Thanks for that,”

Hosea’s light teasing brought a smile to his face as it always did, and after a long overdue hug, they bade each other goodnight.

 

The bright morning light that poured through the curtains roused Arthur from his sleep, and he blinked his eyes a few times. He was familiar with jet lag, and he wasn’t surprised by how his body protested against waking up. One glance at his watch told him it was seven-thirty, which meant it was three-thirty back home. With a grunt, he pulled himself out of bed and changed into a button-up and some jeans. Grabbing his journal and a pencil, he left the house through the back door to sit on one of the large rocks by the dock.

The morning air was brisk but refreshing, and Arthur found that it helped clear his head of the things that had troubled him the day before. He opened up his journal and flipped through the pages, pausing as he found the sketch he had drawn of Albert a few days ago. His eyes scanned the words he'd written, and he couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the irony of his situation. New York was Albert's stomping grounds, and Cairn was his, yet neither of them was currently staying in the one place that felt like home. For a moment, he wondered if he should've told Albert where he was going and that he would be gone for some time. The photographer had the worst luck, and Arthur was his only neighbor within a five-mile radius. He shook his head, figuring if the man needed help, he would have to figure it out himself.

He had written about half a page when he heard someone walking over to him. Curious, he looked over his shoulder, and his brow furrowed immediately. Arthur had to make a conscious effort to keep his frown from turning into a scowl as Micah made his way over to him.

So much for a quiet morning.

Arthur closed his journal with a huff and pulled out a cigarette as Micah took a seat beside him. "Mornin'," he grunted.

"Did something crawl up your ass while you were in Alaska?" He scoffed. "What's with the attitude?"

He took a long drag on his cigarette as he held back a few choice words. Micah's antagonistic attitude wasn't worth fighting, and he was already exhausted enough. Arthur exhaled the smoke as he looked out onto the water. "I s’pose."

Micah chuckled, and Arthur was reminded of how the sound made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "Always a man of few words aren't you, country boy?"

Arthur refused to reply.

"How's that redsk—”

Arthur's anger was quick to catch fire, burning hot in his neck and chest as he interrupted Micah before he could finish the racial slur. "Hey! Watch your damn mouth, you sonuvabitch!"

"Ooh, so you’re a tough guy now? Living out west has gotten to your head, Morgan. You think you're so big and tough, but you're all talk."

"And you ain't shit,"

Micah studied him. "What are we doing treating each other like this? We're sons of Dutch, and that makes us brothers."

"Don't remind me,"

He sighed before continuing. "Listen, come with me for a drive. I'll even give you a firearm of your choice if you do. No strings attached, I swear."

Arthur cocked an eyebrow. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack,"

He considered the offer and turned the idea over in his head. “I swear if this is some kind of trick—”

“It ain’t a trick!” Micah snapped. “I’m driving out to meet a feller, and I thought I’d invite you.”

“And if I go with you I get a gun of my choice? Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?”

“Dutch thinks we should try to get along more, so think of this as a peace offering.”

Arthur muttered under his breath. He didn’t like the thought of being alone with Micah, but he could see why Dutch would want their squabbling to stop. Arthur had planned to stay in New York for at least a week. Surely, he could gather enough resolve to deal with Micah for the next seven days. Arthur rose to his feet with a sigh. “What are we waitin’ for, then?”

He followed Micah over to an old Mustang Fastback that he didn’t recognize. Arthur had seen it when he pulled in yesterday as its peeling paint and rusting metal were hard to miss. It was a shame the car was already well on its way to becoming a rust bucket. The classic car had the potential to be a beautiful vehicle, but Arthur knew nothing would be done to restore the Mustang. They stepped inside, and Arthur studied the interior. The inside was in the same bad shape as the outside. There was a musty smell that lingered in the air, and the leather upholstery was peeling.

“Where did you find this thing?” He asked.

“I had been eyeing this baby while we were in Richmond. It was just before that job went south. For four weeks, I watched this thing just sit in an empty parking lot, and so I grabbed it before we left Virginia.”

“You mean you stole it,” Arthur replied flatly.

Micah rolled his eyes. “Oh, you act so high and mighty, but you’re no better than the rest of us.”

He simply shook his head as they pulled onto the two-lane road. “Where the hell are we going anyway?”

“As I told you, we’re seeing a friend of mine. He sells ammunition and firearms to people like us, and the gang’s supply of both has been low. It’s best we’re prepared in case the law shows up.”

Arthur’s intense gaze shifted to him, his eyes narrowing as he silently eyed him. “Are you expecting the law to show up, Micah?”

“Oh give me a break, Morgan! You know damn well it’s better to be prepared than to be caught off guard.”

“Whatever you say,”

“By the way, you may want to tuck this away somewhere,” he said as he handed Arthur a pistol, “just in case.”

His brow furrowed. “I thought you said this guy was a friend?”

“In a sense. Listen, it’s just a precautionary measure. Don’t you worry your pretty lil’ head over it.”

Arthur studied the semi-automatic pistol, noticing a round was already in the chamber. He muttered under his breath as he tucked the firearm away between his waistband and the small of his back. “Precautionary measure,” he repeated, “why the hell did I even decide to go with you?”

“Because Dutch wants us to play nice, that’s why.” He huffed. “Why are you so damn moody today?”

He didn’t reply as they continued to drive, and he decided to admire the vibrant colors of the trees they passed. The road they were on reminded him of Alaska, and the thought occurred to him that he missed it. It was a thought that caught him off guard, and his heart ached with it. He longed to be back in his small, quiet town instead of riding in a musty car with someone he barely tolerated. His mind wandered to what Charles was doing before drifting to Albert. Arthur hoped the photographer hadn’t taken on any ridiculous endeavors while he was gone. He had no faith in Albert’s judgment, and for a moment, he considered calling Charles to have him check on him.

The sound of fingers snapping in his ear tore him away from his thoughts. He scowled as he immediately batted the hand away.

“Earth to Arthur,” he snickered, “time to come back down to Earth, space cadet. We’re almost there.”

“Why are you so annoying?” Arthur groaned as Micah turned onto a grassy path that almost looked too narrow for the car they were in. “Are you sure this is the right way?”

“Positive, this leads to a small clearing in the middle of nowhere.”

“So you’ve been here before?”

“Only once to chat with the guy and check him out to make sure he’s legit.”

Sure enough, they eventually pulled up behind a truck with a man leaning against it. The stranger, who didn’t look a day over thirty, had a lean frame with almost a permanent scowl carved into his face. “It’s about time you rednecks showed up.”

Micah opened up the trunk of his Mustang before walking over to the man. “Time is relative, now where is everything?”

The man opened up the tailgate to his truck and unzipped the two duffle bags that were inside. “Here, take a look.”

Both Micah and Arthur went over to inspect what was inside. In one bag was a variety of guns, from rifles to pistols and even a shotgun or two. In the other was a supply of ammunition large enough to last the gang for at least a year. Arthur couldn’t believe his eyes, but he wasn’t surprised that Micah had found such a thing.

Micah took a step back as he fished out a wad of cash from his pocket and handed it to the man. “We’ll take all of it.”

The stranger nodded as he began to count the money. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you,”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” He replied as he shouldered a bag. “Take the other one would ya, Arthur?”

Arthur sighed but did as he was told. He was halfway to the Mustang’s truck, however, when he heard the man mutter under his breath behind him before swearing loudly. Confused, he turned around. Time slowed down as he saw the man reach behind him with a dark look that settled on Micah. Arthur had seen that very same look before, had seen it in Dutch’s eyes when Hosea had been shot. It was something that resembled bitter indignation and had a sinister air. Arthur swiftly reached behind him and, without thinking twice, pulled the trigger before the man could even aim his gun. The round found its mark in the man’s forehead, and he crumpled to the ground in an instant.

Both Micah and Arthur were rooted to where they stood, Arthur’s pistol still raised and the familiar, yet acrid, smell of propellant filled the air. All went quiet in the forest, all except for Arthur’s breathing and the sound of his own heartbeat in his head. A moment later, he finally tucked his gun away and swore before venturing over to the dead man to investigate what had set him off. It wasn’t Arthur’s first time buying weapons illegally, and in his gut, he knew something had gone wrong in their exchange. There had to be a reason for the man to pull out his gun. Arthur set the bag down in the grass before kneeling down.

“What the hell are you doing Arthur? We’ve got to get out of here!”

His eyes narrowed as they settled on the cash that was now scattered on the ground, and he picked a bill up to examine it carefully. Arthur’s face flushed hot with rage as he straightened himself and faced Micah before walking over to him. When he spoke, his voice was laced with venom. “You gave the man counterfeit money?”

Micah rolled his eyes. “So the guy was smarter than he looked, who gives a shit? Hell, you probably did the world a service by killing him.”

“All of this could have been avoided if you had just given the man what he deserved! Now, thanks to you, we may have the law on our backs again!” Arthur was livid by now, and Micah’s apathy was only fuel to the fire.

“Please, enough already with this ‘we’ shit coming from you. You decided to pack up and leave over a year ago, and you may have been welcomed back with open arms, but there is no _we_ , Morgan. There’s just you, Charles, and John.” He sneered as he snagged the bag from Arthur and set it in the trunk. “Now there ain’t gonna be any law on our tail. We’re in the middle of nowhere. If anything’s finding this guy, it’s going to be a bear or a bunch of vultures.”

Arthur slammed the trunk shut before his hands curled into fists by his side. “That better be the case, or I’m coming after you.”

“I’m just so frightened by you,” he replied, his tone heavy with sarcasm.

He ignored him as he entered the car. The silence between them was thick and charged. Arthur’s anger didn’t subside any either, still fuming over the fact he killed a man over something as petty as not giving the weapons dealer his money.

When they returned, Hosea and Dutch were sitting outside on the porch. The two of them were enjoying the peace and quiet of the late morning, but one look at Arthur storming out of the car had Hosea rising to his feet.

“What’s wrong, Arthur?” He asked.

He shook his head, his jaw clenched and lips pressed in a thin line. “Thanks to Micah, there’s a dead man in the woods now.”

“I ain’t the one who pulled the trigger!” Micah retorted as he exited the car and walked around to open the trunk. “And don’t forget _I’m_ the one who’s keeping us supplied with firearms and ammo.”

Hosea’s eyebrows drew together as he connected the dots, his gaze flicking to the two large bags Micah withdrew before returning to Arthur. “You killed a man?”

“It was either him or Micah,” Arthur paused as he glared at him, “I should’ve let him take the shot!”

“Now that ain’t nice, Morgan,” Micah said as he shoved passed him and took the bags inside.

Hosea leaned against the porch railing as he rubbed his chin in thought. His expression had turned pensive, and Arthur decided to lean against the side of the house as he waited to hear what the man had to say. Dutch, on the other hand, stayed where he was. He didn’t seem fazed by the news as he continued to smoke from his pipe.

It took an uncomfortably long amount of time before Hosea finally shook his head and straightened himself. “I’m sorry, Arthur, but you have to go back to Alaska tomorrow.”

Arthur knew he shouldn’t have been as taken aback as he was from the news, and it was clear that Hosea was only looking out for him, but he had wanted to spend more time with some of the gang. So far, he had spent the most amount of his time with the one person he liked the least.

He frowned and folded his arms across his chest. “Hosea, I’m not—”

“I’m not about to let you throw away the life you’ve made for yourself out west. The longer you stay here, the higher the risk is of being found out.”

Arthur sighed as his gaze lowered to the wooden boards beneath his feet. As always, Hosea was right.

Hosea gave him a sympathetic look as he placed a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll help you pack your bags.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I am so grateful for all your lovely comments! They have been super encouraging! <3


	4. Rhymes and Reasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a more fluffy chapter as promised! 😊

After setting his two bags in the back of his truck, Arthur dropped into the driver’s seat with a sigh. His trip hadn’t gone the way he’d hoped it would, and the unexpected turn of events had left him feeling drained completely. It wasn’t his first time killing someone, and Arthur had done it once or twice before, but he hated resorting to it. The gang could steal and swindle as much as they wanted to, but Dutch had raised them to hate killing in cold blood. While Arthur hadn’t necessarily been unprovoked, it still weighed heavy on his conscience. To take his mind off the incident, he put in a John Denver cassette after starting the car and pulled out of the airport’s parking lot.

His home was only forty minutes away from the small airport, but Arthur decided to see Charles first before he did anything else. With the mental state he was in, he didn’t want to go home to an empty house. For a moment, despite it being so brief, he had been reminded of how nice it was to live in a community. He had forgotten what it was like to be around so many friends who were like family, and he was certainly grateful for Charles, but his visit had left him longing for the old days and for how things used to be.

It took about an hour to get to Charles’ house, and he shrugged on his coat before stepping out of his truck. He walked over to the small cabin, knocked on the door, and waited.

When Charles opened the door, he had to take a double take. “Arthur? I thought you had decided to go to New York for a week.”

“Well, that _was_ the plan.”

Charles studied him as he stepped aside to let him in. He could tell something had happened. The man who he considered to be one of his closest friends was unusually despondent, and it made him wonder what had caused the mood as well as his short-lived visit to New York. He watched Arthur take his jacket off and slump onto the couch, his head resting against his hand.

“Can I get you something to drink? A shot of whiskey? Coffee?”

“Whiskey sounds pretty damn fine right about now,”

“I figured, you look like hell,” Charles said as he went into his kitchen to grab two shot glasses and a bottle of whiskey.

Arthur chuckled at that. “Thanks,”

“You know what I mean,” he said as he took a seat in front of him. Charles set down the glasses and poured each of them a shot. “So, do you want to talk about what happened?”

Arthur downed the liquor with ease and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He sighed and told Charles all that happened. He told him about Hosea, how his health was declining and the warning he had given Arthur, told him about Dutch and the incident with Micah. Charles listened as Arthur recounted everything, quietly taking it all in. He didn’t speak, allowing Arthur to say all that he wanted to say first before giving him his own two cents.

When Arthur had finished, a heavy silence filled the room.

“I tried to warn you that going to New York was a bad idea.” Charles finally said.

He sighed. “I know,”

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I should have gone with you.”

“It’s my own damn fault, not yours. I should’ve known better.”

He shook his head. “You can’t go down that road, Arthur. At least you got to spend some time with Hosea.”

“Yeah,” he said as he poured himself another shot.

Charles watched him as Arthur stared down at the amber liquid, and he couldn’t help but feel pity for him. Trying to lift Arthur’s mind from the mire of his thoughts, he tried to think of something to change the topic. “I saw that photographer friend of yours earlier today, Albert, right?”

Arthur couldn’t help but scoff to himself as he lifted the shot glass to his lips. “He’s more of an acquaintance,”

Charles lifted an eyebrow in disbelief but said nothing of the comment. “He mentioned he was going to look for a few bears to photograph over by Little Creek River.”

He nearly choked on his whiskey. “He _what_?” he exclaimed between coughs.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Depends, did he go alone?”

“I think so,”

Arthur swore under his breath as he hastily shrugged on his jacket and rose to his feet. “That damn city slicker has no idea what he’s doing, and he’s going to photograph _bears?_ ”

“Are you going to look for him?” Charles asked as Arthur walked over to the door.

“I am, thanks for everything, Charles,”

Arthur didn’t waste time starting his truck and pulling out onto the road, and he pushed the speed limit. It was a struggle to keep his thoughts from wandering about all the things that could go wrong for Albert, and he blamed his dread on the jet lag and the incident from almost two days ago. He already had one man’s death weighing on his conscience, and he certainly didn’t need another.

 

Albert played with the settings on his camera as he walked through the brush. He put the camera strap around his neck as he continued to walk before looking up at the gray sky. It was a lovely, Alaskan fall day. The air was brisk, but not bitterly cold, and he was finally feeling confident in himself for once as he traipsed through the forest. The photographer's survival skills and know-how were improving every day, and he felt sure that he could tackle his planned excursion to photograph a bear without any mishaps.

Albert smiled to himself as he briefly considered how proud Arthur would be of him.

The thought, however, was quickly ripped from his mind as he felt an excruciating pain grip his leg and radiate throughout his entire being. He fell forward into the leaf-litter with an agonized cry, tears burning in his eyes as he felt the world around him spin. Albert dared to look over his shoulder at what had seized his leg and saw the gleaming metal of a bear trap. The sight alone made him feel lightheaded. The trap had bitten deep into his skin, leaving his leg a gory mess.

Albert carefully turned himself over, the pain of even the slightest movement stealing the air from his lungs and causing him to cry out. He stared at the trap, a clammy sweat coming over him as he tried to catch his breath. With shaky hands, he grasped the two arms of the trap and tried forcing it open, but it didn't budge. Albert gathered himself and tried again, his arms shaking with the effort only to find the same results. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to hyperventilate. While it wasn't easy, he knew that staying calm was the key to surviving.

Opening his eyes again, Albert fished his phone out of his pocket and checked his cell service.

Nothing.

His heart dropped. Was this his fate? Dying in the middle of nowhere? Would anyone even find him? Or would his corpse be eaten by scavengers before anyone noticed he was missing?

Albert rubbed his face as the fear consumed him, and he scolded himself for being so stupid. He should've known the Alaskan wilderness would've been too much for him. His ambition had gotten the best of him, and he realized that his mistake had cost him everything. Albert had wanted to accomplish so much more in life, had wanted to find love and to feel successful in his work. Yet, as he lifted his head from his hands and stared at the trap once more, he felt those desires turn to dust. Albert would never get to see those dreams fulfilled, and his heart ached with the thought.

A rustling in the forest ahead of him snapped Albert out of his wallowing, and a fresh, sickening wave of terror welled up from his gut. He hadn't considered the possibility of the wildlife getting to him before death did, and he was entirely unarmed. It was another mistake to add to his growing list, and he swallowed hard as the crunching of undergrowth drew nearer. His chest was heaving by now as he frantically searched for something to arm himself with and he settled on a large rock. It wasn't much, but he hoped a solid throw would deter whatever it was that was lurking toward him.

Albert turned and hurled the stone as he saw something emerge from the trees out of his peripheral.

"Ow! _Shit_ , what the hell?"

It was Arthur, and the sight of him alone was enough to make him want to cry tears of joy. "Arthur! Oh, thank heavens!"

Arthur muttered under his breath as he rubbed his shoulder where the stone had found its mark, but when his eyes settled on the bear trap, he froze. His gruff veneer dropped in an instant as he hurried over to Albert's side. "Holy shit, Al, are you alright?"

It was the first time he'd heard Arthur call him anything other than city slicker, and the nickname alone helped him take his mind off the pain. "Other than finding myself in a tight squeeze? I'm a bit shaken, and it hurts like the Dickens, but I think I’m alright.”

"For crying out loud, Mason, now's not the time for jokes!" Arthur snapped as he studied the trap.

Albert stared up into Arthur's eyes, and he couldn't help but notice the genuine concern in them. Despite his swearing, he saw a tenderness that he never thought Arthur was capable of, and to see that directed at him? It made his lungs hitch and his heart flutter. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you, Arthur."

And he truly didn't. The relief Albert had felt when he recognized him was nothing short of euphoric, and while he felt like a damsel in distress, he was more than content with being saved by Arthur yet again.

"I can imagine, especially if you thought you were gonna die out here." He replied as he placed a hand on each spring.

It was true that Albert had assumed such a morbid thing, but deep down, he knew that wasn't the only reason he was so happy to see him. Albert couldn’t put his finger on what it was, though, and he settled for reasoning that it may have been the fact that Arthur was his only friend in a land that was foreign to him.

With a grunt, Arthur pushed down on the trap, and Albert nearly cried in relief from the pressure that disappeared. "Alright, it's loose now, pull the arms apart and slip your foot out."

He didn't need to tell Albert twice, and he opened the trap and carefully eased his leg out. Arthur didn't hesitate to take Albert’s leg in his hands to inspect the wound. The calloused hands that rolled up his torn pant leg were surprisingly gentle as he tactfully manipulated the fabric around the injury. It was a tenderness Albert never expected from a man with his gruff demeanor. A man who had the strength to knock someone out cold with a single punch.

Arthur sucked in a lungful of air through his teeth as he studied the wound. It was deep, almost to the bone in some places, and bleeding profusely. Without thinking twice, he shrugged off his jacket to remove his flannel. For a moment, Albert watched him in confusion as he tried to understand what he was doing. Only a black tank top covered his broad torso now, and Albert caught himself staring at the defined outline of Arthur’s chest. When he realized what he was doing, he tried to tear his gaze away only to find his stare lingering on the muscles of his exposed arms and shoulders instead. Albert swallowed and forced himself to look up at the sky, thankful Arthur was too preoccupied with dressing his wound to notice. He wasn’t sure what had gotten into him, and he blamed his racing heart on his shock from the injury.

Once Arthur was finished, he glanced up at Albert to find him staring upwards. “You alright, Mason?”

“I’m fine, really. Well, other than stumbling into a bear trap and having it close around my leg, I guess I’m fine.” He stammered.

Arthur cocked an eyebrow as he studied him. There was a flush in his cheeks, and he lifted his wrist to rest it against his forehead. “Shit, feels like you might be running a slight fever.”

Albert took hold of his wrist and pushed it away, afraid he might discover that it wasn’t a fever making him run hot. “I told you, Arthur, I’m fine. I just probably need stitches, is all.”

Arthur wasn’t convinced, and he frowned as he put his jacket back on. Albert was thankful that he was wearing the jacket once again, unsure as to why he’d reacted so strongly to seeing Arthur in just his tank top. Albert had started to feel his pulse finally drop back down to its usual pattern when he felt arms wrap around his waist and underneath his thighs. He yelped in surprise and instinctively clung to Arthur’s shoulders as he was gingerly lifted off the ground. Albert felt him chuckle quietly to himself as he carried him through the woods and back to the main road.

“You’re a bit jumpy, aren’t you?”

Albert tried to force himself to relax again as he drew a deep breath and smiled a sheepish smile. “A little,”

It was nearly dizzying being carried by Arthur, and it was certainly unexpected. Albert could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and he almost suggested that he could at least hobble along and that Arthur didn’t have to haul him to the car. However, he quickly realized how absurd the notion was. Besides, Arthur didn’t seem bothered one bit, and he held Albert as if he were as light as a small child. Arthur’s sheer strength amazed Albert, and he realized that he felt safe in the man’s arms.

Although as secure as Arthur’s grasp felt, there was still the pain that burned like fire just above his ankle. While it throbbed constantly, every so often a fresh surge of pain would course through him, causing Albert to fist his hands into Arthur’s jacket and grit his teeth. Arthur would look down when he felt him do so, concern written all over his face. Although he would say nothing and would merely quicken his strides.

Albert was relieved to see the blue truck as they stepped out of the forest. By now he could tell his dizziness was from the amount of blood he’d lost rather than being in Arthur’s arms. Arthur somehow managed to open the door, and he carefully set Albert down on the passenger seat. He helped Albert prop his injured leg up on the dash and hastily took his place behind the wheel.

Arthur glanced at Albert as he started the car. The man was steadily growing paler, and sweat had started to make his hairline damp. Neither did anything to ease the worry that made Arthur’s chest feel tight with the knowledge that the nearest hospital was fifty minutes away. He swallowed hard and pulled out onto the road, pushing the Bronco to reach twenty miles over the set speed limit.

“I’m sorry Arthur, I’ve ruined your wonderful flannel,” Albert said as he stared at the fabric wrapped around his leg. “I hope I don’t ruin your upholstery too.”

Arthur glanced at him with a raised eyebrow as he turned on his hazards. “Really? _That’s_ what you’re choosing to worry about right now? Listen, Albert, those things are the _least_ of my concerns right now. Both of those can be replaced.”

It was Albert’s turn to look at Arthur, uncertain as to how he should interpret the implication of Arthur’s words. Regardless, he could at least assume he meant more to Arthur than a flannel or carpeting that was over thirty years old. A deep crease formed between his brows as he removed his camera from around his neck. “You must think I’m a buffoon, don’t you? An urbanite who’s dimwitted enough to step right into a bear trap.”

A scoff left his lips. “No! But…well, maybe a little.”

Albert sighed as his eyes returned to the trees that flew past them. “I should’ve taken your advice, or, better yet, I should have returned to New York altogether. Quit while I was ahead and leave the wilderness photography to the professionals.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, that ain’t what I’m saying. If anything, I should have done a better job of helping you.”

“That isn’t your guilt to bear, Arthur. I’m a grown man.”

“Grown or not, you need supervision with your kind of luck.”

“I suppose you’re right on that front,” he chuckled.

Arthur read a mile marker that passed by and frowned. They still had quite a way to go, and Albert’s condition wasn’t getting any better. If anything, he looked about ready to pass out. Arthur reached over and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Try to stay with me, Mason. Tell me about your favorite thing about New York.”

“I…” It was getting harder to concentrate, and the persistent dizziness had brought on a wave of nausea. “I think I like the variety there the most. There are all sorts of people, food, and things to do. But I’ve found that it does get tiring after a while, always doing something, I mean. There’s a culture of busyness, but here, well, I can’t remember the last time I sat down with the purpose of simply existing before coming out to Cairn.”

His speech was starting to slur, and Arthur tried to think of a reply that would hold the man’s attention. “I agree, I never did like New York City much. I find it hard to think there with all the constant noise.”

“Wait, you’ve been there?”

“I have family out that way,”

He hummed in thought. “That’s nice. When I leave Alaska, you should come visit me the next time you’re in the city. I’d like it very much for us to stay in touch after I leave.”

Arthur knew it was the man’s blood loss talking. He found it hard to believe that Albert would truly want to remain in contact with him. There was no reason for him to desire such a thing. Sure, Arthur had helped him out a few times, but Albert had no idea who he truly was. Hell, he had just killed a man, and he still had ties to the Van der Linde gang. There wasn’t a sane person out there other than Charles and John who would want to be friends with the likes of him.

Despite these thoughts, he decided to play along. “Sure, but it’ll have to be through snail mail.”

“What? You don’t have a cell phone?”

“Nope,”

“Email?”

“Definitely not,”

Albert stared at him, a shocked expression on his pallid face. “So how do you contact people? I mean, with most everyone having a technological device of sorts.”

“The USPS works just fine, and if I do need to make a call, there’s a pay phone in town.” He said with a shrug.

“You are full of surprises, Mr. Morgan,” he replied, a weak smile spreading across his face, “and, pray tell, what is your reason for that?”

“It’s…” he paused as he tried to find the right words, “safer that way.”

Albert’s brow furrowed, and even with his brain fog, he knew better than to ask what Arthur meant. He leaned back against the seat as he mulled over the new information. Yet the more he tried to figure Arthur out, the more confusion clouded his mind. He closed his eyes as his dizziness intensified, and Arthur’s voice saying his name suddenly sounded miles away as he lost consciousness.

 

The muffled voice of a newscaster reached Albert’s ears as he slowly came to. His brows drew together as he blinked his eyes open and took in his surroundings. He was in a small hospital room with a window to his left, and the TV that was anchored up high against the pale green wall was outdated. When he went to massage the bridge of his nose, he noticed the IV in his arm. Of course, he tried to ignore the discovery, as needles made him feel queasy, and looked up to find Arthur asleep in a chair that was too small for him to sleep comfortably.

Albert blinked. He hadn’t expected Arthur to stay. The man had already done more than enough for him, and as he studied Arthur, he felt a pang of guilt as he noticed how tired he looked. The slow rise and fall of his chest told Albert that he was sleeping deeply, and as he stared, he couldn’t help but notice the fresh, denim shirt Arthur was wearing, and the thought occurred to him how well the wash would match the blue in his eyes once he had awakened.

He had intended to let Arthur sleep for as long as he needed to, but the sound of the door opening roused the man with a start.

The nurse that entered introduced herself before checking Albert’s vitals and IV fluid. She then asked him several questions, taking shorthand notes as he answered, and then excused herself from the room. Albert glanced over at Arthur as he ran a hand over his bearded face.

“You’re still here,” he noted.

Arthur stared at him for a moment, mildly taken aback by the observation. Of course he had stayed. He couldn’t imagine doing otherwise. The gentleman had looked like death when they arrived at the hospital, and he had wanted to be sure Albert would wake up alive and well. Arthur hoped Albert hadn’t thought twice about his pause as he rolled his neck in an attempt to work out the kink that had settled there. “Yeah, I had to convince them you were an old friend from college visiting from New York to let me stay with you.”

“You really didn’t have to go through all that trouble, you know. First going out to find me, then driving me out here, and then staying with me? It was my own foolish mistake and—”

Arthur cut him off with a wave of his hand. “It’s no trouble, Al, seriously,”

There was that nickname again, the one that made Albert’s heart flutter. He looked down at the white blanket that covered him from the waist down, except for his left leg, as he cleared his throat. “How _did_ you find me, by the way?”

“When I went to visit Charles, he mentioned what you were up to and that you said you were going to Little Creek River. It was easy to track you once I found your car on the side of the road.” He paused, his eyes flitting to Albert’s leg before making eye contact once again. “You’re lucky you ran into him. That’s the first step to surviving out here. If you’re going exploring or hunting or something, you _always_ tell someone where you’re going and for how long. Doesn’t matter if you’re fishing or photographing wildflowers. You just never know what you’re gonna run into.”

“Thanks for the tip and, well, for everything. I would have surely been some creature’s meal by now if it weren’t for you, and once I get out of here, I plan on replacing that flannel you so kindly let me use as soon as I get the chance.”

Arthur chuckled to himself. “Would you forget about the stupid shirt? I just so happen to have a packed suitcase with me, so don’t worry about it. I have plenty of shirts.”

Albert tilted his head. “Why do you have your suitcase on you?”

He paused, his eyes flicking up to the TV before lowering to the tiled floor. “I flew out to New York for a few days.”

“To visit family?”

“Yeah,”

He did the math in his head, having just seen Arthur a few days ago. “That was a short visit.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be,”

“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.” Albert blamed the morphine for inhibiting his sense of judgment, but he couldn’t help the curiosity that gnawed at him. He’d just found out that Arthur had a family, in New York of all places, and even in his groggy state Albert could tell he hadn’t wanted to leave when he did.

Arthur looked up at him, his blue eyes intensely captivating yet incredibly sad. “Trouble, that’s what.”

His answer didn’t surprise Albert. It was vague just like every other answer Arthur had given him. He sighed and dropped the subject as he eyed his bandaged leg. “Did they mention when they would release me?”

“It should be anytime now. You only needed stitches and a blood transfusion. Everything’s looking good, so they shouldn’t need to keep you much longer.”

Arthur was right. The nurse reentered about thirty minutes later to wrap everything up and to give Albert instructions as to how to care for the wound for the next four weeks to ensure it healed completely. He was told not to lift anything heavy and to keep the area dry for at least three days. She then told him his belongings were on the bench beside Arthur and handed him his crutches. Albert studied them as she left. This was his first time ever needing crutches, and he hadn’t the faintest idea as to how to use them properly.

Arthur gathered Alberts things and set them beside him. “Let me guess, you don’t have a clue how to use those things.”

“I’m afraid not,”

Arthur flashed him a lopsided grin as he offered his hand to help him stand. Albert tentatively took it and slowly rose to his feet, careful not to put any weight on his left leg. Arthur then held a crutch beside him and adjusted it accordingly. “A lot of folks tend to put their full weight on these things and end up with bruised armpits. What you’re supposed to do is use them to brace yourself like a cane.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” Albert asked with a raised eyebrow.

He shrugged. “A little, I’ve had my fair share of injuries. Do you need any help changing into your clothes?”

Albert could feel himself flush at the offer, and he tried to hide it by scratching his nose. He wasn’t sure how Arthur could be so nonchalant about such a thing, and he made a mental note to add it to the lengthy list of differences between Cairn and New York City. “I think I’ve got it, thank you.”

Although, he did let Arthur bring his clothes into the hospital room’s bathroom as he hobbled in. After Arthur closed the door for him, he took a seat and started with changing into the button-up and sweater he had been wearing. It was an easy enough transition, and Albert took a deep breath before acknowledging the folded jeans. It would be tricky getting them on, but he was determined to do it on his own. He unfolded the pair of jeans, and his brow furrowed as he studied them. They were as clean as can be, and the left pant leg was in one piece. Confused, he checked the tag where the inseam alone, which was only off by a hair, confirmed that they were not his pants.

Albert smiled at Arthur’s kind and unspoken gesture. There was no reason for him to do such a thing, and he wondered if the Arthur he met earlier that week would ever consider showing such thoughtfulness. He wasn’t sure what had spurred the change in Arthur, whether it was the bear trap incident or him simply warming up to him, but regardless, it was refreshing.

It took him longer than it should’ve to get the pants on, and not without a few accidental and painful bumps to his leg. The pain that was stirred up each time had him regretting declining Arthur’s offer, but in the end, he was proud of himself for being able to complete the simple task. Using his crutches, he pulled himself up and exited the bathroom to find Arthur sitting on the bed.

“Thank you for the pants.” He smiled.

Arthur rubbed his neck, avoiding eye contact as he rose to his feet with Albert’s things tucked underneath an arm. “Don’t mention it,”

They exited the hospital, and Arthur had Albert wait as he got his truck and pulled it around to the front. As he was helped into the car, Albert found that he still couldn’t wrap his head around Arthur’s helpfulness. He hadn’t done a single thing to deserve such genuine kindness, and yet Arthur continued to help him without a second thought. It was as if the man who sat next to him in the driver’s seat was a completely different person. Even his resting facial expression had changed, although Albert noticed that it seemed sadder than before.

A silence settled between them, and Albert decided to press play on the truck’s cassette player. The familiar voice of John Denver singing “Gravel on the Ground” began to play through the speakers, and Albert’s lips quirked upwards in a smile. “You listen to John Denver too?”

Arthur cast an incredulous glance his way. “You know this song?”

“Of course, this is my favorite album of his.”

“I thought you said you listened to indie-folk and alternative,”

“I do, but I never said I _only_ listen to those genres.”

Arthur gave him a once-over look before a lopsided grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You would be a John Denver fan.”

Albert hummed along to the song and tapped the armrest in time with the beat. Arthur shook his head. He could tell that the strong pain medicine was still at work in his system, lowering his inhibitions just enough to bring out a confidence in Albert he hadn’t seen much of. By the end of the second verse, he was singing out loud.

“Come on, Arthur! I know you know these lyrics, so why don’t you sing along?” Albert said.

“Well, you see, I don’t really want to,”

“Surely that can’t be true,” He replied with a frown.

“I’m afraid it is,”

“I find that _quite_ hard to believe. I mean, you were humming Johnny Cash earlier this week!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “For the love—just let me focus on the road, will ya?”

Albert either hummed or sang for the remainder of the drive, occasionally switching out cassette tapes after they had listened to both sides. He played anything from John Denver to the Rolling Stones, and oddly enough, Arthur found his enthusiasm refreshing. It was nice witnessing someone enjoy going through the many tapes he had stashed away in his glovebox.   

Arthur took the turn for the small apartment Albert was staying at and drove up the driveway. He exited the car and walked around the front to help Albert. However, the photographer surprised him by waving him off as he gingerly turned in his seat to hang his legs off the side.

“Thank you, Arthur, but I’m going to have to figure this out sooner rather than later. It’s not like you can be by my side at all times, after all.”

Despite being skeptical of Albert’s capabilities, Arthur took a step back to give him space. “Suit yourself,”

It was painful watching Albert try to finagle the crutches without hurting himself. The odds weren’t quite in his favor either with the truck being a little higher off the ground than most vehicles. Yet Albert was determined to get out without Arthur’s assistance, and it wasn’t without some difficulty that he managed to successfully exit the truck.

“There!” He panted proudly. “Piece of cake,”

“Sure,” Arthur said as he checked his watch, “only took ya five minutes.”

“A new personal record,” Albert grinned as he straightened himself on his crutches.

Arthur followed closely behind him as he made his way over to the front door. Leaning against a wall, Albert fumbled through his pockets to search for his keys. He felt his heart drop when his hand grasped nothing but fabric. With a hard swallow, he searched through the other pocket only to find nothing again and turned to Arthur, remembering that the pants he was wearing weren’t his.

“Just out of curiosity, did you by any chance keep my pants at all?” Albert asked hesitantly.

Arthur scoffed at the question. “No, of course not! They were ruined.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, it dawned on Arthur why Albert was asking such an odd question. The force of the realization hit him like a ton of bricks as his gaze shifted to lock on the door. However, the only thing that stood between them was a simple bolt lock. It would be easy enough to pick, and Arthur told Albert to stay where he was as he went back to his car to get a jackknife lockpick set that he kept in the side compartment.

Once Albert realized what he was doing, he was stunned as he watched Arthur set to work. From the looks of it, picking the lock was easy for Arthur, and it was as if he had years of experience under his belt. The thought alone was disconcerting, and Albert hoped that was the only questionable skill the man had hiding up his sleeve.

A soft click signaled that the locking mechanism had been cracked open, and Arthur straightened himself as he folded the lockpick and put it in his pocket. “I hope you have a spare key lying around here.”

“I do, thank goodness. Why don’t you come in for a bit? I can even get some coffee brewing if you’d like?”

“Sure, why not?” He replied with a shrug. “After you,”

Albert led the way inside and made his way over to the kitchen. “Forgive me for being so bold, but why do you have a lockpick on you?”

“To help city slickers get into their apartments after an idiot throws away their keys, of course.” Arthur quipped.

A deep crease formed between Albert’s brows as he gave him a warning look. “Please don’t talk that way about yourself. It was an honest mistake.”

The gentle correction took him off guard as he took a seat at the kitchen island. “Why do you care?” He was genuinely curious, and he hoped the question hadn’t come across the wrong way.

“I…well, I guess I’ve just seen you prove to be otherwise, and I’m well aware of self-deprecating jokes and all that they entail.”

“I see,” He mused as he watched Albert struggle juggling the coffee pot and crutches as he tried to turn on the sink. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

“I think I’m alright, thank you,”

“You know, you should really be elevating that leg while it’s healing instead of standing around trying to make coffee,”

“It feels fine, Arthur,”

Arthur made a tsk sound. “It may feel fine now, but you’re gonna be in a world of hurt in an hour if you don’t give it a rest.”

Albert let out a frustrated huff. “It’s just a simple pot of coffee, please just let me do this one thing, and I swear I’ll—” He found himself cut off short as a crutch fell and clattered to the ground. Albert sighed as he leaned against the sink and rubbed his temple.

It took a conscious effort for Arthur to stay seated. He wanted to help, but at the same time, he knew he had to respect Albert’s wishes. Yet the photographer looked almost as tired as Arthur was, and his shoulders were hunched forward in defeat. Arthur waited a moment before he finally stood, unable to sit back any longer, and picked the crutch up off the floor.  

Albert thanked him and continued to get the coffee started. Arthur stayed by his side as he did so, silently providing moral support and ready to help if needed. When he had finally finished the task, Albert went over to the loveseat to lie down with his leg propped up on the armrest. Arthur followed suit by taking a seat in the armchair next to him.

Albert looked completely worn out by the simple task. His eyes had closed, and the only sign that told Arthur he was still awake was the frown he wore. The state he was in reminded Arthur of the time John had been stabbed in his side when they were in Chicago. They were both young at the time, and the knife hadn't caused any serious damage, but the road to recovery had been longer than either of them had expected it to be. The memory brought to mind how Albert would have to be patient with himself and be willing to receive help.

Arthur fidgeted with his hands as he turned the situation over in his head. He had a decision to make. Either he could stay and help Albert and risk the possibility of putting him in danger with who he was, or he could leave Albert to take care of himself despite being in no condition to do so. The third option was to find someone else to take care of Albert, but Arthur couldn’t think of a single person he trusted enough other than Charles. Unfortunately, Charles was out of the question. It would be just as risky, if not more, for Albert to have established connections with more than one Van der Linde gang member, former or not.

The sound of the coffee pot beeping startled him out of his deep ponderings, and he went back into the kitchen.

"How do you take yours?" Arthur asked as he poured two cups.

Albert looked as if he was about to insist on doing it himself, but instead, the gentleman gave in with a sigh. "I like it somewhere between dark and light, but more on the light side, with one spoonful of sugar, please."

He carefully sat up and thanked Arthur when he brought him his cup, and he took the time to savor his first sip of the drink. It was heavenly. Albert had started to get a caffeine headache, and Arthur had managed to make his coffee perfectly.

He looked up at Arthur who had taken a seat once again, his own cup in his hands. "This is amazing, thank you,"

"It's just coffee," he said.

"It is, but it's also my first cup of coffee since I ran into Charles, and you've made it just right."

"So you're a caffeine addict?"

He shrugged. "I am. Did you really expect anything else from someone who lives in the city that never sleeps?”

“Not really,” he paused as he set his mug on the coffee table. “I’ll be back, I’ve gotta grab something from the truck.”

Albert watched him curiously as he positioned a few pillows behind him for better support. There was no telling what the man was up to. He took another sip of his coffee as he studied the books on the TV stand. They were all fairly generic, a variety of atlases, food and wine catalogs, and well-known literary classics. Albert was toying with the idea of picking up the collection of short stories when he heard the door open again, signaling Arthur’s return. He looked over the back of the couch to see Arthur bringing in a travel bag.

“What’s that for?”

Arthur shrugged as he set it down. He was uncharacteristically unsure of himself as he scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I figure I’m already packed for a week’s stay, and you could use some help, so I thought I’d see if you wanted me to stick around for a while.”

Albert was beyond surprised, and he couldn’t have hidden it even if he’d tried. It took him a moment to pick his jaw up off the floor, and he blinked as he tried to reorient himself. That dizzying feeling was back again, and Albert found that he couldn’t blame it on any kind of shock or pain this time. “You’re more than welcome to stay, and I am undoubtedly grateful for your help, but the apartment only has one bedroom.”

“That’s fine, I don’t mind sleeping on the couch,” and that was true. Arthur had spent many nights sleeping on the ground before, had even been homeless and on his own in his adolescent years, and those experiences made sleeping on a couch feel like anything but an inconvenience.

“Are you sure? You’re going out of your way to help, and I wouldn’t mind one bit giving you the bedroom while you’re here.”

“Al don’t be ridiculous. I promise you I’m sure,”

Albert nodded to himself as he looked down at his coffee. The way Arthur was so willing to selflessly assist him pulled at his heart in ways he didn’t understand. Arthur had nothing to gain from helping someone like him. His photography gig may have provided enough money for food and shelter, but Albert had nothing substantial to give him as payment. If Arthur truly did have a rap sheet, why was he so genuinely kind? Albert scratched the back of his head as he contemplated these things, and a small part of him wondered if he could truly trust Arthur. Was there an ulterior motive he wasn’t catching? Albert tried his best to ignore the thought, reasoning it was better to have Arthur around and be unsure of who the man was rather than being alone while injured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! It was a fun one to write.
> 
> I do want to let y'all know that I'm on vacation for the next few weeks. Updates might be scarce during this time, so thank you in advance for your patience!


	5. Retrospect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy!
> 
> In this chapter, our two soft boys are cubed and it's (mostly) true that it can only be done once. The only reason why is because you then know the symbolism behind each thing. It's a personality test and if you want to cube yourself, here's a pretty thorough website you can use. :)
> 
> https://owlcation.com/social-sciences/quick-personality-test

Albert opened his eyes to find sunlight pouring into the room and the smell of breakfast in the air. He blinked, ran a hand over his face, and felt around for his phone. He eventually found it sitting on the nightstand and unplugged it before checking the time. It was a quarter past eleven, and it occurred to Albert that he had slept for more than twelve hours. That is if everything that had happened yesterday wasn't a dream. It had certainly been surreal enough to be one, but as he stretched, he was quickly reminded of his injury. With a pained groan, he mustered the strength to sit up and gathered his crutches before opening Instagram to check his photography account. It had been a while since he'd posted anything new, although he had informed his few thousand followers that he'd be taking a trip out to Alaska. Albert had been meaning to post a few photos he'd taken, and he was grateful that he could at least attach more than one photo to a post.

He stared down at his pajama pants as he considered getting dressed but decided to leave that undertaking for later. With a deep breath, he pulled himself up onto his feet and made his way toward the kitchen. He paused, however, as he took in the sight of Arthur cooking over the stove. The window over the sink to his right was bare, allowing the full morning light to bask him in its warm glow. Arthur had already changed into a dark red flannel and jeans, which told Albert that he had been awake for a while now. Albert balanced one crutch against him as he snapped a photo of the moment, the lighting too good for him to pass up.

Arthur turned as he put his phone away. "Mornin', I thought I'd get some breakfast going. It ain't much, just scrambled eggs and bacon."

"It's certainly more than I would've been able to do, thank you," Albert smiled.

"There's also hot coffee in the pot, help yourself city slicker."

"Don't mind if I do," he chuckled as he poured some into a cup. Once Albert had fixed it the way he liked it, he took a seat at the kitchen island and pulled out his phone again. Using an app, he adjusted a few photos and then opened them on Instagram. The caption's blinking cursor, however, forced him to pause. His eyes flicked up to Arthur before returning to his phone. How was he supposed to summarize all that had happened so far? There was so much that he wanted to say, and as he reviewed the photos of Arthur and the Ambarino Mountains, he felt his mind draw a blank.

Albert sipped his coffee as the words finally came to him.

 

_To my fellow adventurers at heart,_

_This week I have come face to face with the reality that my survival skills are exceedingly inadequate. Good intentions, I realize, are nothing compared to competence and persistence. As much as I love the great outdoors, it has become crystal clear that I have much to learn. This is God's own country, and I am his faithful servant, but this endeavor has proved to be a challenging undertaking._

_In the last week, I have seen the breathtaking beauty of the Alaskan wilderness, but it has not come without a price. I have experienced anything and everything from my first flat tire, to getting caught in a bear trap. Arthur Morgan, the man pictured in a few of these photos, has been my saving grace. I am alive and well thanks to him, and he has been nothing short of helpful. I can't begin to repay him my debt of gratitude, and perhaps I am to remain eternally in his debt._

_Onwards and upwards!_

 

Albert read over his caption before finally posting the photos and he placed his phone down on the counter as Arthur brought two plates of food over. Arthur pulled a stool over to the adjacent side of the island and took a seat. He reached for the salt just as Albert did, and when their hands brushed Arthur pulled his hand back as if he'd been burned. Arthur mumbled an apology and gestured for Albert to help himself.

"You know," Albert started after passing Arthur the salt, "when I can actually get around without feeling I'm auditioning for a circus act, I should make us some of my favorite meals."

"Are you implying that my cooking ain't any good?"

Albert's eyebrows lifted in surprise. It hadn't occurred to him how his comment could've been interpreted as an insult. "Oh no! Not at all," he stammered, "I didn't mean to imply that! I was just thinking aloud and—”

Arthur laughed. "Easy, Al, I'm just joking with you!"

He relaxed at once as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. "My goodness, you had me fooled thinking I had actually offended you!"

"Please, I don't think you could offend me even if you tried,"

"Good,"

When they had finished, Arthur took care of the dishes as Albert continued to drink his coffee. His thoughts drifted as he watched Arthur, and a grin pulled at the corner of his mouth as an idea occurred to him. He hardly knew the man, but now that they had nothing but time to kill, he had a trick up his sleeve to help him break through the first layer.

"Say, have you ever been cubed before?"

Arthur gave him a curious look over his shoulder. "Cubed? What the hell is that?"

"It's a personality test of sorts. But fair warning, you can only be cubed once."

He lifted an eyebrow, both interested and skeptical of Albert's proposition. After a moment, he turned off the sink before sitting back down again. "Sure, why not?"

"Alright," Albert smiled, "for this test, it's important to stick with the first thing that comes to mind. Before we really get into this, I need you to imagine a field. It can be any kind of field. Describe it for me."

Arthur scratched his beard. "It's a field you'd find in the Midwest, mostly dry but some areas are green."

"Now picture a cube in this field, tell me about its location and appearance."

"Well, it's got one corner on the ground. It's made of black marble, so it's shiny."

"And when you say marble, I assume you cannot see through this cube?"

Arthur shook his head.

"How big is it?"

He shrugged. "Maybe the size of a large moving box? No taller than a person but too large to pick up."

"The next thing I want you to imagine is a ladder. Where is the ladder in relation to your cube and what is it made of?"

"It's your standard aluminum ladder and it's leaning against the cube."

Albert took another sip of his coffee before continuing, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Now there's a horse. Describe it's appearance, what it's doing, and where it is."

He thought it over for a moment. "It's a bay Morgan and he's grazing in the field next to the cube."

"I see,” Albert hummed, “now imagine flowers in this field. It can be any arrangement of flowers."

"Flowers?"

"Yes, flowers. Surely you can picture at least some kind of floral plant," he teased.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "There's some wildflowers, but not many, and they're kinda hidden in the grass. It's the dry season, so some are either dying or have died."

The description took him off guard, and Albert studied him for a moment as his smile faded. "Alright, now imagine a storm. What do you see?"

His reaction didn’t go unnoticed, and Arthur hesitated before he answered the question. "There are some towering, dark storm clouds, like something you'd see in the summer."

"And where is this storm in relation to your cube?"

"It's not far, but it ain't close either. Like something you know is coming, and you can smell it on the wind, but the rain hasn't started yet. Other than that, it's a cloudless sky over the rest of the field."

Albert drew a deep breath. "Well, that was enlightening."

Arthur eyed him, his eyes narrowing a hair. "So, what's it all mean?"

"The field represents your mind and your perspective. With your field being mostly dry or dying, you tend to be more pessimistic than optimistic. Although you do try to balance your pessimism with realism.

"Your cube, well that's your personality as well as how you see yourself. Your cube was close to the ground, meaning you like to stay grounded in reality. No pun intended, of course.” He smiled. “Although, you don't mind being imaginative, hence part of the cube being off the ground, and you have the capacity to be creative. Now the black marble can be interpreted as individuality. You like to go your own way and you have a strong personality, but you also don't reveal much about yourself. The reflective surface means you tend to show only what you feel people need to see. The size of the cube symbolizes how you see yourself and how big your ego is. I take it you don't see yourself in the best light?"

Arthur mulled it over for a moment before shrugging. "Seems accurate so far, now what's the ladder mean?"

"The ladder can represent your goals and relationship with your friends and family. With it being taller than your cube, you tend to have goals that are difficult to reach, but since the ladder is nearby you are still trying your best to achieve them. Your ladder is built out of a strong material, which resembles how close you are to your friends. It's leaning against your cube though, which means your friends often turn to you for support.

"The horse is probably the most interesting part of the test. It represents your ideal partner."

Arthur scratched the back of his neck. "Well, shit,"

Albert smiled. "You pictured a brown horse, which shows you don't have any set expectations for them." Of course, Albert had noticed how he'd used the pronoun 'he’ but decided not to bring attention to it. "You mentioned it was grazing, which means you desire someone who's fully committed to you. Morgans, from what I understand, are horses that are eager to please, affectionate, and witty.

"Some people think the flowers represent friends; others say children. Regardless, you're content with a few close friends and a tight-knit family. Although, to be honest with you, out of all the people I've cubed you're the first to mention dying or dead flowers."

Arthur stiffened and his gaze dropped to the wooden counter. He fidgeted with the watch on his wrist and cleared his throat. "I had a son. He and his mother lived in Chicago, and I visited them when I could. One day I drove over, found bullet holes had riddled the side of the house, and there was old blood on the pavement. It was through the grapevine at a local bar that I heard there'd been a drive-by shooting a day before I blew into town and that it had left behind five bodies. I didn't need to hear the rest to connect the dots."

Albert was speechless at first and he preoccupied his hands with his coffee cup. As much as he wanted to say something, the words seemed to escape him. He eventually found his voice again and placed a hand on Arthur’s arm. "I'm so sorry, Arthur. I can't imagine what that must've been like. What were their names?"

"Eliza and Isaac, I’ve lost a few friends too. They were all good people, and they all died young." Arthur wasn't sure why he was opening up to the photographer. In fact, he wasn't sure of most things as of late. He sighed and gently removed Albert’s hand from his forearm. "So, what's the storm mean? Is there something bad coming my way?"

"Not exactly, it reflects your stress level. I'd say yours is rather high, but you're able to compartmentalize it, which is why it's mostly in the background. The blue skies show that you still see that there are some things in life you can look forward to."

Arthur stared out the window as he processed everything. With a shake of his head, he smiled to himself before looking up at Albert. "You're sharper than I thought you were,"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You knew this whole cubing thing would tell you more about myself."

Albert offered a timid smile. "Well, it's only fair that we get to know each other a little more if we're going to be temporary roommates."

"Fine, what was your cube then?"

"It was translucent, a tad shimmery and opalescent, which means I tend to show how I’m feeling and tend to be optimistic as well as idealistic. The field was generic but green, and my ladder was adjacent to my cube, which makes sense since I'm not that close to my family, but I do appreciate them."

"And your horse? I ain't letting you get off that easy." Arthur smirked.

Albert felt his face redden and he finished his coffee in an attempt to hide it. "If you must know, it was a white Arabian who was also grazing.”

Arthur scoffed to himself. "A white Arabian, huh? And what does _that_ one mean?"

"Well,” he started reluctantly, “white symbolizes that I value loyalty and trust over other things, but the breed I guess means I prefer someone who's steady, maybe headstrong and spirited, but even-keeled for the most part."

"Doesn't surprise me," he reflected aloud, "and have you found this white Arabian yet?"

Albert shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked down at his hands. "No, I haven't."

Out of the corner of Albert's eye, he could tell Arthur was scrutinizing him. It was a gaze that he could feel, and it sent a chill down his spine. “Have you ever been in a relationship before?”

“Not really, I’ve been on a few dates here and there, but nothing serious.”

“Just couldn’t find that white Arabian, huh?”

Albert chuckled, and he hoped it sounded more confident than nervous. “I guess you could say that.”

He couldn’t help but grin at how jumpy the conversation had made Albert. The photographer truly was translucent, but it was oddly charming, and Arthur found himself lost in watching him for a brief moment. He studied Albert like he studied the subjects of his drawings, noticing the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled and the gentle curve of his lips. His disheveled hair that looked soft to the touch. Albert was easy on the eyes because he was so transparent, and maybe it was his transparency that made it so easy to trust him. Arthur felt his heart leap into his throat as he realized where his thoughts had strayed.

What had gotten into him?

Arthur cleared his throat and rose to his feet almost too abruptly. “Have you taken your pain meds yet?”

“No, not yet,”

“Go sit yourself on the couch while I get them and some things to change the dressing,”

Albert did as he was told, finding that he was getting used to the crutches as he made his way to the loveseat. He didn’t have to wait there for Arthur long and he sat himself across from Albert on the coffee table. With ginger hands, he lifted Albert’s leg and rested it on his thigh. Albert looked away as he unraveled the bandages. He didn’t want to see the stitches or anything else the beartrap had left behind. The thought alone was enough to make him feel queasy, and if Arthur noticed, he didn’t say a word about it.

When he had finished, he gave Albert the prescription strength ibuprofen the doctor had given him and a glass of water. Albert thanked him as he was handed the remote to the TV and Arthur grunted out a ‘don’t mention it’.

“I have to go into town, is there anything you need while I’m there?” Arthur asked as he shrugged on a jacket and put on his boots.

Albert shook his head. “I’m fine, but thanks for offering.”

Arthur looked over his shoulder to flash him a crooked smile. “Don’t get into any trouble while I’m gone, now.”

 

It had been about a week before Albert had started to become restless. Arthur had noticed it while they were watching _Gunsmoke_. The photographer had been more fidgety than usual and changing his position as much as he could while keeping his leg propped up. This continued for about twenty minutes before he finally spoke up.

"You can't quit moving, can you? Hell, I'm feeling antsy just lookin' at you." Arthur teased.

"I suppose I've come down with some cabin fever," Albert chuckled.

"How about we do something about it, then? Tell you what, I'm going to take a shower and then I'm taking you sightseeing somewhere I think you'll like." He said as he made his way to the bathroom.

Albert watched him go, his thoughtfulness bringing a smile to his face. He returned his gaze to the TV and absentmindedly flicked through the other channels as he waited. There wasn't much on, as it was an early weekday morning, so he settled on watching the HGTV channel. The show was following a newly married couple looking for a vacation rental in Tahiti. Albert had finally fully tuned into the episode when he saw Arthur reenter the living room out of the corner of his eye. He looked over at him without thinking, and his eyebrows lifted high in surprise as his face flushed bright red.

Arthur only had a towel around his waist, his tanned skin still glistening with the water from his shower. Albert had gotten a good idea of his physique when he'd removed his flannel the day he got caught in the bear trap, but nothing could've prepared him for how built Arthur was. As Arthur nonchalantly crossed the room to get to his bag, he ruffled his damp hair, making it fall over his eyes ever so slightly. While he rummaged through his bag, Albert found himself gawking at his back muscles and the handful of scars that marred his torso. Each scar no doubt had a story, and while he didn’t mind the view, he was more curious about what each silver sliver that marked his skin had to say.

When Arthur had found his clothes, he turned and offered an apologetic smile as he realized Albert was watching him. "Sorry, I forgot to bring my clothes in with me,"

"No need to apologize," he sputtered.

And with that, Arthur returned to the bathroom to finish up. Albert drew a shaky breath and ran a hand through his hair as he tried to recover and pull together enough concentration to watch the show again. His attempt was unsuccessful, however, as the image of Arthur in nothing but a towel stayed persistently at the forefront of his mind. Albert finally sat up and gathered his crutches, needing to do something physical in order to distract himself. Except before he could truly get anywhere, Arthur had entered the room again, this time wearing a faded denim button-up and a vest.

"You ready to go, city slicker?" He asked.

"Sure, can you grab my jacket for me while I get my camera?" Albert could feel some residual heat in his neck still, and he hoped by the time he got to his camera bag that it would have left him. After stringing the bag around his neck, he rejoined Arthur by the door with his jacket in hand. He held it up for him, and Albert thanked him as he slipped his arms into the sleeves.

"That bag looks a bit heavy for your neck," Arthur noted, "why don't you let me carry it around for ya?"

"Are you sure?"

Arthur made a tsk sound. "I wouldn't offer if I wasn't."

"You, sir, are a gentleman," he said as Arthur removed the bag and shouldered it.

He rolled his eyes as he opened the door for him. "I really ain't."

Albert cocked an eyebrow as his gaze flicked from Arthur, to the door he was holding, before returning to him once again. "Says the man who just opened the door for me,"

Arthur muttered something under his breath as he gestured for Albert to get going. The photographer felt a rare smirk twist his lips upward as he hobbled out the door.

He then helped him with the truck’s door, taking Albert's crutches as he pulled himself into the cab.

"Still not a gentleman?" Albert asked, feigning innocence while his tone was mildly teasing.

"No, just tryin' to be decent," he huffed before shutting the door.

"And there we have the small, black cube," Albert said to himself as he watched Arthur walk around the front.

Arthur set the camera bag in the back and settled into his seat. Without another word, he started the truck and turned onto the main road.

Albert opened the glovebox and looked through the tapes. "What are you in the mood for today, Arthur?"

"Why don't you put in _Solitary Man_ by Johnny Cash?"

"I don't think I've heard that one." Albert mused as he searched for it before putting it in.

"It's a good album,"

Albert listened to the words as the first song played. Somewhere amongst the guitar strumming and Johnny Cash's iconic gravelly voice was Arthur's humming. The humming would occasionally change into singing, and Albert noted how well the man could carry a tune. His voice fitted right in with Cash's, and Albert found himself listening more to Arthur than the music playing from the speakers.

It was after they had listened to another three tapes that Albert studied his surroundings. They'd been on the road for a while now, and he noticed that the trees had turned into rolling fields of red and orange. He had no idea where he was, although the bay in front of him told him they were far from Cairn.

"So, what exactly are we doing, Arthur?" He finally asked.

"I have a friend of sorts who has a tour boat, and since you can't really hike anywhere, I thought you might appreciate a boat tour where we might see some whales." Arthur said.

"That sounds amazing!" He beamed. "I've never been whale watching before!"

Arthur parked the truck by the docks, and they made their way to the boats that were strung along the pier. As they walked, Albert found that he couldn't take his eyes off the blue water. It was gorgeous, a shade of blue he never thought the Pacific was capable of. A touch on his arm pulled his attention away from the sight. It was Arthur, who was standing beside him, with arms ready to catch him.

"Let's keep our eyes on where we're going for now, shall we? While I'd jump in after ya, it'd be best if we avoid slipping in altogether." Arthur said.

Albert simply nodded and listened to Arthur's recommendation. Knowing his luck, he had no doubt that the scenario was plausible. He had, after all, been unfortunate enough to step into a bear trap. Albert wouldn't put it past himself to slip off the side of the pier too.

They had almost reached the end of the row of boats when Arthur took it upon himself to step over the back of a catamaran. He signaled for Albert to wait before knocking on the cabin door. It didn't take long for the door to open, revealing a man with a gray mustache.

"Arthur! It's good to see you!" He beamed as he clapped him on the shoulder. "What brings you back to these parts?"

"I have a friend who's a photographer, except he got himself into a bit of a predicament and can't do the hiking he'd hoped to do. I was thinking maybe you could take us to see some whales instead."

Albert waved from where he stood, offering the stranger a smile.

The man returned the wave and nodded. "I don't see why not! Why don't you work on getting your friend inside while I get this fine vessel running, hm?"

Arthur simply nodded and made his way back to the stern.

"Your friend seems nice," Albert noted as Arthur helped him into the boat.

"That's Arturo for you," he said, "he's blissfully unaware of most things."

Albert cocked an eyebrow. "Like rumors?"

"Especially those, unlike you. You just don't seem to give a damn."

"And I don't, "

"Well you should,"

They held each other's gaze for a beat, Arthur's eyes glinting with sincerity as they met Albert's curious ones. Once again, the photographer found himself wondering what kind of truth was buried beneath the things he'd heard. Albert felt anything but unsafe with Arthur, and for a brief moment, he wondered if he should be worried for once. He opened his mouth to ask why, but Arthur must've read his mind for he hastily turned away from him and walked into the cockpit where he picked up a conversation with Arturo. Albert's stare lingered on Arthur before he took a seat on the front deck and zipped up his coat. The boat’s engine came to life, starting as a gentle hum before growing into a steady, louder whirring. The smell of diesel mixed with the smell of the sea as the boat left the dock and sailed away from the coast.

Arthur exited the cockpit and went over to Albert to hand him his camera bag. The gentleman smiled from ear to ear as he thanked him and pulled out his camera and a lens. The wide smile forced Arthur to pause, and he mentally cursed himself as he found his thoughts drifting once again to how heartwarming Albert's smile was. It frustrated him. For the first time in a long while, Arthur felt out of control of his thoughts and emotions. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but watching Albert enjoy himself and thriving in his element of photography like a child on Christmas day stirred things inside him he thought had been long since dead. Arthur felt at war with himself as he stood beside Albert along the railing, fighting between letting his walls down and keeping them up.

Every once in a while, he caught a glimpse of the photos Albert took of the whales and the landscape. Arthur was impressed with his skill. Each photo was painstakingly taken, yet Albert made it look so effortless. A speedboat caught Arthur's eye, and he watched it as it sailed past them. The waves left in its wake caused the catamaran to rock ever so slightly. It felt like nothing to him, but Albert had been too enthralled by the sights around them to brace himself. He lost his balance, and as he scrambled for the railing, Arthur snagged his jacket to keep him from falling as he found his footing again.

"Easy there, these ain't the kind of waters you want to fall into." Arthur grunted.

"Truly," he breathed out as he placed a hand over his heart. Albert could feel it pounding in his chest and he glanced up at the upper deck. "I think I might sit up there so I can get the same views while seated."

"Sure, just don't slip on the steps,"

Arthur stayed where he was, enjoying the brisk breeze as the catamaran sailed parallel to the coast. From up above, Albert found that the view was even better. He adjusted the settings on his camera and took another shot of the landscape before aiming the lens at Arthur to snap a photo of him. Arthur glanced up at him after he did so and furrowed his brow.

"Point that thing at somethin' more interesting, Al," he called.

"But you _are_ interesting,"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Bullshit,"

Albert lowered the camera to look at him directly. Much to his dismay, Arthur was serious. He had been hoping the man had been joking and seeing that he wasn't had robbed him of any words to reply with. Instead, he lifted the camera back up to his face to take a photo of a few whales breaching.

They were out for just over an hour and as they came in to dock, Arthur gave Arturo a handsome tip before helping Albert onto the pier.

"There's a hole-in-the-wall diner just down the street if you're hungry for lunch," Arthur said as he took Albert's camera bag for him.

"I'm starved, that would be lovely,"

They drove over to the diner Arthur had mentioned and were seated at a table in no time as the restaurant was fairly empty. There were only a few patrons, most of them local fishermen and tour guides on a lunch break. Arthur took Albert's crutches for him and leaned them against the wall next to an empty corner booth before taking a seat. Albert opened up the menu and scanned the options.

"What do you recommend getting?" He asked.

"Their coffee is pretty good if you need a second cup. Don't let the reindeer and caribou options faze you, they're better than they sound." Arthur replied as he turned over his coffee mug. His eyes flitted up to a well-dressed gentleman who was being seated in the corner booth before gravitating to the hockey game that was being broadcasted on the TV behind the counter.

Albert scratched his beard as his eyebrows drew together. "There's a lot of options. What are you getting?"

"The caribou chili,"

"Now that sounds delightful on a day like this! I think I might copy you and order that myself."

Arthur smirked. "I didn't think you'd have the guts to try something so different, city slicker,"

He shrugged. "I'm always willing to try new food."

Arthur chuckled to himself, and Albert smiled. It seemed to him that his good mood had returned, and he relaxed into his seat. Arthur's attention drifted to something over his left shoulder, but before Albert could inquire about it, a waiter came to take their order.

"So how did you meet Arturo?" Albert asked after the waiter had left them.

"A good friend of mine who helped me get settled in Alaska introduced me to him. She had a feeling we'd get along."

"Does she live here?"

Arthur shook his head. "No, she's a bounty hunter of sorts now in New Mexico. They've given her a fancier title, of course, but it's all the same."

Albert took a double take. "Your friend is a bounty hunter? And here I thought you didn't have many surprises left, Mr. Morgan."

Arthur grinned, albeit there was a nervous glint in his eye. "I still have a few up my sleeve."

The waiter came back with their food, and they both dived in. As Albert started a conversation about what he enjoyed about whale watching, Arthur's eyes strayed once again to the corner booth. The man's intense stare that he’d noticed earlier hadn't left him once, and he felt the blood drain from his face as a smirk made the stranger's lips quirk upwards beneath his mustache. Arthur swallowed hard, and he tore his gaze away, staring down at his bowl of chili. Had it been anyone else, he wouldn’t have thought twice about the stranger, but the man stood out like a sore thumb in the fishing and tourist town they were in.

Arthur's change in demeanor didn't go unnoticed by Albert, and he was about to turn to see what had stolen Arthur's smile when he felt his calloused hand grasp his arm. He froze and tried to read Arthur. Yet he only revealed what he wanted to show, a carefree grin spreading across his face as he shook his head and used a napkin to wipe at his arm. Albert quickly realized that Arthur was wiping at nothing and was only using the small gesture as a guise.

"Don't turn," he said in a hushed tone as he brought his coffee to his lips.

Albert wanted to know why, but he feared the answer too much to ask. Instead, he simply nodded.

The conversation they were having died as they focused on finishing their meal. Arthur didn't even wait for the check, estimating the total plus a tip and leaving enough cash on the table to cover it. Arthur nearly swore out loud when he realized he'd left the crutches by the stranger. He steadied himself, drew a deep breath, and retrieved them, all the while feeling the man’s eyes on him. Albert sneaked a glance as he did so, catching sight of the stranger who had caused such a stir in Arthur. When he came back, he handed Albert his crutches, and the photographer followed closely behind.

Arthur helped him into the truck before entering himself and driving down the street in the opposite direction of the diner.

"Who was that?" Albert finally asked when he couldn't handle the silence any longer.

"Don't know," Arthur replied, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, "it looked like he recognized me."

"In a bad way?"

"Yeah," he said as he pulled onto the main road. They hadn't gone more than a mile when Arthur saw red and blue lights out of the corner of his eye in his rearview mirror. He took a double take and glanced at his speedometer. He was going at least fifteen over, and a scowl contorted his face as he hit his steering wheel. " _Shit!_ "

Arthur sighed and pulled over, running a hand over his face as he muttered a string of swears under his breath. He'd been so preoccupied with getting away from the diner that he hadn't thought twice about his speed. Arthur lowered his window and rested his arm on the doorframe.

Albert could tell he was fuming, and while he couldn't read him like an open book yet, he knew Arthur well enough to know he was only angry with himself. For a second, he considered placing a hand on his arm. A part of him couldn’t stand seeing the man be so hard on himself. Yet, the memory of Arthur pulling back as quickly as he did when they brushed hands had him reconsidering. Albert didn’t know what had caused him to react so strongly to the brief touch, but he was certain that he didn’t want to become the target of Arthur’s anger. The photographer didn’t think Arthur would ever lay a hand on him, but he did know the extent of his strength and the venomous words he was capable of.

The state trooper sat in his car for a while. It made Arthur restless, his hand alternating between gripping the hair at the back of his head and running his fingers through it. A cold sense of dread filled the pit of his stomach. He had no doubt the cop was running his plates, and Arthur feared what he would find.

It was almost a relief when the state trooper finally stepped out of his car and sauntered over to the truck. He looked Arthur over with a scrutinizing stare, his hands on his hips and shoulders pulled back.

“Do you have any idea how fast you were going?” He asked.

“I dunno,” Arthur shrugged, “I’ve only been driving down this road for about a mile.”

The trooper offered a sly smile, one that had Arthur bracing for what he knew was coming. “You’ve got a _long_ rap sheet, Mr. Morgan, and I couldn’t help but notice a pardoned triple homicide on that lengthy list of misdemeanors. You must’ve had one hell of a lawyer.”

Arthur swallowed. “You could say that.”

He chuckled to himself and shook his head. “I’m going to let you off with a warning just this once, and you’d best give heed to it.”

“Of course,”

Neither of them said a word as they drove along the winding road. It was as if a noose had been cinched around Arthur's throat and his heart raced as he waited for Albert to say something, waiting for him to pull the proverbial lever. The photographer's silence was agonizing. There was no doubt he was processing the new information. Arthur's head hurt as he tried to predict how Albert would react to what the state trooper had mentioned. While Arthur had known Albert would find out about his pardon one way or another, he had hoped it would've been from his own mouth.

"Triple homicide?" Albert finally asked.

"That's what my pardon’s for," he sighed.

"Did you really do it?"

Arthur could feel Albert's intense gaze on him. He kept his own eyes on the road, not wanting to look into Albert's hazel eyes that were searching for answers. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that."

Albert looked away and leaned back into his seat with a defeated sigh. "Why don't you trust me, Arthur?"

His chest tightened, angry with himself for hurting Albert with his forced reticence. Dutch had made him swear never to tell a soul about what happened, that it was really him who pulled the trigger instead of Arthur. The gang knew the truth, of course, and that was fine, but those on the outside couldn't know. Yet the photographer was curious in nature, and it was only a matter of time before this topic of conversation was dredged up. He should've seen it coming, should've put more distance between him and Albert before it came to this. Arthur would've heeded the warning signs had he realized it would hurt like this. "It ain't like that! I trust you, Al, but I can't break the promises I've made to some people."

The confusion clouding Albert's mind was dizzying. He didn't know what to make of it all, torn between believing Arthur and doubting him. Albert stared out at the thin tree line, and he couldn't help but wonder if he'd ever know Arthur's story. He had been so tantalizingly close to knowing it, and yet he now felt miles away. All the hard work of worming his way through Arthur's defenses had turned to dust in an instant. He felt shut out. A deep ache twisted Albert's heart, and he wished he knew why it pained him so much.

The silence that flooded the car was suffocating, and Arthur was drowning in it. Not being able to take it anymore, he pressed play on the tape player and glanced at Albert before clearing his throat. "Did you get any good photos?"

"A few, I think. I like to run them through an editor before posting them." Albert replied. His tone was very matter of fact, polite yet curt.

Arthur sighed and continued to drive as John Denver's voice filled the moment of quiet between them. “I really do wish I could tell you more, Al, but I’ve got to stay true to my word.”

“I understand, I do,”

Arthur glanced at him to find that, as always, he was being genuine. It made his eyebrows pull together. He didn’t deserve a single ounce of his patience nor kindness, and yet Albert freely gave it to him.

No strings attached.

No trade-offs.

To experience such a thing was rare for Arthur, and he tried to blame the flips his stomach was doing on the road’s hills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely vacation wishes! It's been quite refreshing after a crazy year of work and it's nice to be able to sit down and fully dedicate some time to this fic. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the chapter! The next one is going to be a fun one and I'm hoping it'll be out by Saturday (but who knows).


	6. Near and Far

Arthur leaned against his truck as he smoked a cigarette and waited for Albert to return from his follow-up visit. While he had refused to leave Albert alone when they had first shown up at the hospital two weeks ago, his presence hadn’t been well received by some. No one had said anything to him, although they didn’t need to. Their looks had said it all and had made it clear that he wasn’t welcomed. Arthur preferred avoiding most of the locals anyway, and so he had decided to wait outside. Doing so also helped him avoid drawing attention to himself, and he figured that Albert could make it in and out okay without his help. The photographer had been healing well, and it was unsurprising when Albert exited the hospital with only a cane instead of the crutches he had mastered. He was practically beaming as he made his way over, and Arthur couldn’t resist mirroring his contagious smile.

“I’m on the mend, Arthur! They told me everything is looking excellent!” He exclaimed.

“That’s great, Al! I’m glad you got some good news.”

“Me too. I have you to thank for that.”

Arthur rolled his eyes as he opened the passenger door for him. “You give me too much damn credit for too many things.”

“And maybe you don’t give yourself enough credit,”

“Touché,”

Albert chuckled to himself as the door was shut and he turned on an Eagles tape. Arthur stubbed his cigarette on the ground and joined him behind the wheel. He glanced over at Albert as he pulled out of the parking lot, and if the photographer had seen it, he would’ve caught the brief wistful look in his eyes. Arthur had actually enjoyed spending the last two weeks with him. Albert had a zeal for life that he hadn’t felt in a long time. His speedy recovery, however, meant that Arthur was no longer needed. Whether he liked it or not, he would have to go back to his own house. Arthur had known that was the inevitable outcome from the start, and he had been dreading it, _still_ dreaded it even.

What was he going to do when Albert went back to New York?

Arthur forced the thought to the back of his mind as he continued to maintain the minimum speed, determined to drag out the moment as long as he reasonably could.

He drove up the driveway and parked just behind the Sedan he and Charles had retrieved from the side of the road by Little Creek River almost a week ago. Albert glanced over at him, unsure why he hadn’t turned off the car yet. The crease carved between Arthur’s brows was concerning, and he gave him a once over look. “What’s wrong, Arthur?”

Arthur forced a short chuckle. “I can’t live with you during your entire stay, Al.”

He wanted to ask why not, but he held his tongue. “You’re going back to your own home?”

“I am,”

“Don’t you need to come inside for your things?”

Arthur shook his head. He’d never been good at goodbyes, and so he had packed his things early that morning and had put them in his car ahead of time. “No, I’ve got everything in the back already.”

“Oh,”

The crestfallen look that stole his smile pained Arthur, and he had to look away. “I’ll still be around.”

“Sure,” Albert replied as he reached for the door handle, “I’ll see you around. One of these days, though, I’m going to have you over for one of my homecooked meals.”

He grinned as he watched Albert exit the car. “You just let me know when that is, and I’ll be there.”

The drive back to his own house felt longer than usual and was done out of muscle memory more than anything. Arthur didn't bother to turn on the radio. He was too distracted by his inner turmoil to consider listening to music, and it hardly registered that he was home as he pulled up his driveway. With a deep frown carved between his brows, he turned off the car and looked up. He froze as his eyes lifted to his house. The door had been busted open; its frame splintered and left ajar. A chill ran down his spine as he cautiously stepped out of the truck. Arthur reached for the combat knife he kept on him at all times and flipped it open as he eased his way inside to assess the damage.

There was no doubt someone had broken in, and a sense of dread came over him as he looked around. All valuables that he had expected to be stolen were left untouched. Instead, drawers to his dressers and cabinets were pulled open, and any paperwork inside had clearly been rifled through and left scattered about. He checked each room and found that whoever had broken in had long since gone. Arthur put his knife away and searched for _Shane_ in his shelf of VHS tapes he kept and opened it. He sighed in relief when he found the stack of letters still inside he kept that were from gang members, both former and current alike. Arthur found his opened satchel that had been tossed onto the floor and tucked the VHS case inside. Shouldering the satchel, he hastily left his house, retrieved whatever mail was in the mailbox, and jumped into his truck again. His goal was to warn Charles before doing anything else, but Arthur quickly reconsidered. Whoever was looking for him had clearly been searching for information, and there was no telling if the intruder had eyes on him now. If that were the case, driving to Charles' house would lead whoever it was right to him.

He swore under his breath and made a U-turn with the only logical option being to go back to Albert's place.

 

Albert heaved a sigh as he stretched out on the loveseat. While he should have seen it coming, he had been completely blindsided by Arthur’s abrupt departure. He had hoped to, at the very least, say a proper goodbye over a good meal. While Arthur was a conundrum, it was clear to Albert that he didn’t like goodbyes in the slightest.

In an attempt to distract himself, he scrolled through the photos from their whale watching adventure as he sipped his steaming coffee. He lingered on the one of Arthur as he recalled the conversation that had taken place just after.

_Point that thing at something more interesting._

Albert shook his head. It frustrated him that Arthur had blinders on when it came to his positive qualities. He was incredibly interesting, sharp-witted and kind with blue eyes that matched turquoise waters most people only dreamed of. Perhaps he would show Arthur the photos he'd taken of him one day to prove his point.

As he scrolled through the comments, he couldn't help but chuckle. Many of them were about Arthur and his obvious good looks, and he deleted the few that were too lewd for his liking. There was one comment that caught his eye, however, and his cheeks flushed after he read it. The person had asked if he planned on updating his relationship status while in Alaska and was followed by a heart-eyes emoji. It was a harmless question that was intended to be humorous, but its insinuation did nothing for the feelings Albert was already struggling with.

A knocking on his door stole his attention, and he was grateful for the diversion. Tucking his phone into his pocket, he used his cane to help him up to his feet. He checked the peephole first, and once he realized it was Arthur, he scrambled to unlock the door. The man in front of him looked unsettled, his jaw set and posture rigid.

"Arthur? Did you forget something?" He asked.

"Not exactly," he replied as he rubbed the back of his neck, "my place was broken into at some point, and I was hoping I could possibly crash here for another week."

Albert immediately stepped aside and waved him in. "Of course! Good heavens, was anything taken?"

"No, but they were certainly looking for something." He said as he went inside.

Albert studied Arthur, who was now standing in the middle of the living room as he ran a hand through his hair. He was unusually shaken, and as Albert closed the door, Arthur made his way back over to him.

"Can I borrow your phone? I need to give Charles a call."

"Be my guest," he replied as he placed it into Arthur's outstretched hand. He thanked him and stepped out onto the deck to talk in private.

Arthur was relieved when Charles picked up and he exhaled a shaky sigh.

"Hello?" Charles asked tentatively over the line.

"Hey Charles, it's Arthur. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, why?"

"My house was broken into. Don't know who or when, but they were lookin' for information. Not sure what they were hunting for, but I don't doubt it's related to Dutch or John."

"Damn, do you think they found anything?"

"Don't think so. They didn't find the letters I've kept, and what mail I had in the mailbox was left alone."

He heard Charles sigh. "Where are you now?"

"I'm at Albert's,"

The line was silent for a beat. "Be careful, Arthur. You can't drag him into this mess."

Arthur massaged his brow as he leaned against the house. "I know,"

"Stay low, alright? The less attention on you right now the better."

"I _know_ , I ain't a child,"

"Would you stop with the attitude, Arthur? I'm just looking out for you." Charles countered.

He nodded to himself. "I'm sorry Charles, you stay safe, alright?"

"Alright, Arthur,"

He hung up and reentered the apartment where he handed the phone back to Albert. The photographer watched Arthur pace for a moment before clicking the number to send Charles a text message.

 

_Hi Charles,_

_I'm sure Arthur has told you about the break-in already. Don't know what he told you, but he's not doing well. Your company might help him. I plan on making something for dinner and you're more than welcome to join us. =)_

_-Albert Mason_

 

Albert read it over and then sent it to the number before saving it as a contact. He tucked the phone back into his pocket and walked over to where Arthur was. He dared to place a hand on his shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Why don't you have a seat, Arthur? There's not much we can do right now. I'll get dinner going while you relax. What's yours is mine, so help yourself to whatever you please."

Arthur nodded. "I'm gonna bring my things inside first if you don’t mind."

"Of course, be my guest," Albert said as he went into the kitchen. His phone vibrated in his pocket and he withdrew it to find a text from Charles. A smile crossed his face as he read that Charles was happy to come over and see what he could do about Arthur. Albert replied with his address and thanked him before he continued to get dinner ready.

When Arthur came back inside, he set his bag where it had been for the last two weeks and took a seat at the dining table. Albert watched as he withdrew a journal from his satchel and opened it up to a blank page. Every once in a while, Albert would glance up from what he was doing to watch Arthur sketch. From the looks of it, he was drawing a disheveled room. His artistry and attention to detail were incredible; papers were strewn about and drawers were open on the page, and to the right was a journal entry in elegant cursive.

"Is that your house?” He asked as he placed some chicken breasts into a frying pan.

The question startled Arthur and he looked over at him. He had been so engrossed in his drawing that it took him a moment to remember where he was. “Yeah,”

“I’m sorry it was broken into, but your drawing is amazing,”

“It ain’t really all that, but thank you,”

Albert scoffed to himself as he began slicing a medley of veggies. “It is too! For the love, you’ve hardly sat there for more than five minutes and you’ve got your whole entryway drawn out!”

His reply brought a smile to Arthur’s lips, amused by how defensive Albert had become about his ability to draw. It was charming, and it was that reason alone that had Arthur accepting the compliment instead of replying with another dismissive comment.

Albert had just about finished cooking dinner when a knock sounded on the door. Arthur was on his feet in an instant, his smile dropping as he stiffened. In his mind, there was no telling who stood behind the door. After seeing the mess that had been made of his house, he knew someone was hunting for him, and the thought that his pursuer had found Albert’s house sent a chill down his spine.

Albert looked up from what he was doing and felt a twinge of guilt when he saw the panic in Arthur’s eyes. “Don’t worry, that’s probably Charles. I should’ve told you earlier that I had invited him over for dinner.”

Arthur relaxed at once with a sigh of relief and went over to the door to open it. Sure enough, it was Charles who was standing at the door. His friend looked him over with concern as he entered the apartment.

“Dinner smells wonderful, Albert,” he said as he set a bag of things down on the dining table, “I brought two packs of cards over in case you all wanted to play something afterward.”

“Did you bring any whiskey?” Arthur asked as he shut the door.

A warning look from Charles was his only answer. As much as Arthur wanted to get drunk, both of them knew he wasn’t in the right frame of mind to do so. The desire to drink in excess rarely hit him, but Charles was more than willing to keep him accountable when it did.

As the three of them sat down to enjoy Albert’s homecooked meal, Arthur found himself pausing to soak in the moment. Albert’s personality was easy to get along with, but it looked as if Charles was genuinely enjoying himself. The two of them clicked as if they had been friends for years, and it made a small smile appear on Arthur’s face.

“Thank you, Al, this was amazing,” he said once he’d finished.

“I told you I could cook,” Albert replied smugly.

“That you did,” he chuckled as he rose to his feet and collected the dishes, “I’m gonna take a quick shower. Feel free to get a card game started without me if you’d like.”

“Don’t forget your clothes this time,”

Arthur shook his head as he placed the dirty plates and silverware in the dishwasher. “I won’t.”

Charles raised an eyebrow at the brief exchange as he watched him exit the room. He then turned back to Albert. “He’s stayed the night before?”

“He has. About two weeks ago I managed to step right into a bear trap. It was just after I had last talked to you at the coffee shop, actually. Arthur found me and took me to the hospital, and he was kind enough to help me as I recovered.”

“So, he’s been staying with you since then?”

“Indeed,”

“Arthur didn’t mention that when we got your rental,” Charles mused, “he mentioned the bear trap, but not him crashing at your place.”

“I’m noticing he keeps quiet about the oddest things. I feel like I can’t read him in the slightest.”

“He does that. It took me a few months to break through.” Charles said before gesturing to Albert’s cane. “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered as quickly as you have.”

“Me too, those crutches were the bane of my existence!”

Charles looked him over for a moment, a thoughtful look in his eye, and Albert couldn’t help but notice how his gaze was both gentle and piercing at the same time. “Arthur seems to put quite a bit of trust in you.”

Albert sighed. “I’m not so sure about that one.”

“If Arthur didn’t trust you, he wouldn’t have offered to stay and help you.” He countered. “His past is more complicated than you think, be careful not to hold that against him.”

Albert hadn’t thought of it that way. He looked down at his hands as Charles opened up a pack of cards. In hindsight, he hadn’t been as patient as he should’ve with Arthur’s reticence, and the thought sent a twinge of guilt through him.

They had been halfway through a game of Rummy when Arthur joined them. The shower seemed to have washed away some of the tension in his muscles as he leaned back against the chair he sat in and ran his fingers through his damp hair.

“Are you two playing Rummy?” Arthur asked as he scanned the cards laid out.

“We are, and Albert is giving me a run for my money,” Charles replied.

“Only by a few points,” he smiled.

Arthur grinned and dealt himself in by taking seven cards from the bottom of the deck. Charles furrowed his brow before he snatched the cards out of his hand.

“Would you just give us a few minutes to finish this round?”

Arthur muttered under his breath and folded his arms across his chest as he watched the two of them. Albert brought a hand up to his mouth as he tried to disguise his laugh as a cough. Between Arthur’s frown and posture, he looked like a child who had been scolded. The dynamic between them was amusing as Charles carried on with the game as if nothing had happened, completely ignoring Arthur’s sulking.

Albert had ended up winning, and Charles jokingly chalked it up to beginner’s luck. The three of them played a variety of card games late into the night as they carried a casual conversation. There was a moment between bits of laughter where Albert regarded his current situation with gratitude. He couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed a laid-back evening with a few friends. It made him feel warm inside, and he tried not to think about when he would have to leave the amazing company he had been so fortunate to find.

It was about a quarter till eleven when Charles finally collected the cards and thanked Albert before he left. Arthur checked his watch as Albert shut the door and he fidgeted with the leather band for a moment before looking up at the photographer.

“You ever seen the aurora borealis before?” He asked.

Albert shook his head. “No, I haven’t, but it’s definitely on my bucket list.”

“You think you’ve got enough energy in you to see them tonight? It starts in about thirty minutes and peaks somewhere around twelve thirty.”

“Sure! I’d love to see them!”

Arthur smiled at the way Albert had lit up at the proposition. The photographer was always ready for a spontaneous adventure, which was, in his mind, a surprising trait for someone who was born and raised in the city. “Alright, why don’t you gather some blankets while I remove the truck’s cap. You might want to put on some layers too while you’re at it.”

Albert nodded and Arthur put on his heavier jacket before stepping outside. The temperature had dropped more than he had expected it to. By the time he had removed the camper shell, the cold had stolen all feeling from his face and left his cheeks and nose looking rosy. As he rubbed some warmth into his hands, Albert joined him outside with his arms full of thick blankets.

“Do you think this is enough?” He asked as he craned his neck around the mass.

“That’s plenty,” Arthur said as he took them from his arms, “where the hell is your cane?”

“It’s still inside. I needed both arms to carry the blankets.”

Arthur furrowed his brow and shook his head. “Go inside and get it while I hold onto these. You’re unfortunately gonna have to keep these in your lap while we drive. Otherwise, they’re gonna be a cold, useless pile of fabric.” 

When Albert returned with his cane he got into the truck. Arthur waited until he buckled himself in to set the mound of blankets on his lap before taking his place behind the wheel.

It didn’t take long to get to the spot that Arthur had described as the best place to watch the northern lights, and Albert found that he hadn’t been exaggerating. The spot Arthur had driven to was a wide clearing with a gorgeous backdrop of the Ambarino Mountains. Arthur parked the car with the truck bed facing the mountains and took the blankets off Albert’s lap so he could easily get out.

After spreading the blankets out, Arthur helped Albert onto the truck bed before hoisting himself onto it as well. A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth as Albert made himself comfortable, bunching some of the blankets beneath his head and pulling a thicker one over himself. It was a bitterly cold night, but it provided them with crystal clear skies. Arthur settled in beside Albert. With his shoulders so broad, they ended up lying with their sides nearly flush together. Albert half expected him to change positions due to the physical contact, and he was surprised when Arthur didn't. The small bit of warmth they shared from the touch was welcomed by both. Even with the blankets, the crisp air still bit at their skin.

With his arm pressed against Arthur's, Albert was tempted to hold his hand. He could feel the back of it against his, and his heart fluttered at the thought of it. However, he knew better than to ruin the moment like that. Holding Arthur's hand would no doubt earn him a negative reaction, and so Albert soaked up as much as he could of the sensation of feeling Arthur against him. He shivered at the contrast between the heat rolling off Arthur and the breeze that cut through the air. Arthur must've felt the cold chill because he unrolled a double sleeping bag he had left by the wheel well, placed it underneath the covers, and motioned for Albert to get in. The photographer was happy to do so, and he was even happier when Arthur joined him. This time, however, Arthur folded his arms behind his head, and it left Albert aching for his touch again.

His brow furrowed suddenly. The strength of the yearning stirring in his heart had caught him off guard. Albert had never felt this way before, and it left his mouth dry.

What would he do when he had to go back home? He couldn't take Arthur with him, and that was assuming the man even felt the same way towards him.

Albert stole a glance at Arthur, the moonlight highlighting his defined brow and the curve of his cheekbones. His heart sunk. There was no way Arthur would ever return what he was realizing he felt. He had grown close to the man who had so readily helped him, perhaps too close. In Albert's mind, the two of them would never work, which did nothing but fan the flames of desire he felt for him. His gaze shifted to the stars as Arthur pointed at the sky.

"There! You see that glow?" He asked.

"Just above the mountains?"

"Yeah, that's the start of the northern lights."

Albert squinted as he stared. "That isn't light pollution?"

Arthur laughed and rested his arm on his chest. "Nope, you just gotta give it some time to grow."

Albert watched as the sky was painted in greens and yellows. The sight was breathtaking as the dancing light spread its fingers over the sky. He lifted his camera, adjusted the aperture as well as the shutter speed, and took a photo. Albert then set it aside, wanting to fully be in the moment. His hand went back to his side, and he felt it brush against the back of Arthur's. His breath hitched, and he braced for Arthur to move away, yet he never did. As small as the touch was, it still filled him with warmth. Arthur's knuckles were soft compared to his calloused hands, but for a brief moment, he felt his rough fingers graze his palm. Albert's heart leaped into his throat, the gentle caress causing goosebumps to cover his skin. He was convinced it had been intentional until Arthur cleared his throat and raised his hand to point at the sky once again.

"There's a few shooting stars just north of the lights, you might see a few," Arthur said softly. He wasn't sure what had gotten into him. Arthur had almost held his hand without thinking twice, and the lapse in judgment had heat pooling in his face. It had been impulsive, and he only hoped Albert hadn't noticed.

For the rest of their sky watching, Arthur kept his hands folded on his chest. He didn't trust himself one bit. In his heart, for whatever reason, he wanted to feel Albert's touch again, but his fear of rejection was greater. No sane person would want someone with a rap sheet as long as his, not to mention the baggage he carried. Albert didn't know the half of it, and Arthur intended to keep it that way for his safety.

Arthur glanced over at Albert to find that he had drifted off, and he couldn’t help but notice how peaceful he looked. The breeze had blown a lock of his dark hair into his eyes, and it was only after Arthur had gently brushed it away that he realized what he was doing. He abruptly pulled his hand away and held his breath as he waited for Albert to wake up from the light touch, yet he never did. Arthur exhaled a sigh of relief before gently shaking his shoulder to rouse him.

Albert blinked his eyes open and stretched, a content smile gracing his face. "My apologies, Arthur, I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

"I don't blame you," he chuckled, "it’s late and my company ain't that exciting."

Albert's smile dropped with a huff. "Would you quit doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"You keep belittling yourself, and I won't stand for it,"

Arthur looked away and sat up, unsure how to reply to that one. "C'mon, if we stay out here long enough, we'll freeze to death."

Albert sighed and grabbed his camera bag and cane before scooting to the edge of the tailgate where Arthur offered his hand to help him down. He gladly took it and eased himself to the ground, careful to take most of the impact on his right leg.

The ride back had been filled with an awkward silence. They were both tired and beside themselves. Arthur felt frustrated and trapped. It was as if there had been something left unsaid between them, and the thought of it made Arthur’s stomach feel uneasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends!
> 
> So the fun chapter I mentioned last week will actually be chapter seven. I had to break this chapter in half because it was over 10k words 😅 But good news! That means there will be another update either sometime today or Sunday!


	7. Into the Quagmire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyyyy double update today! 
> 
> I have to thank toadmaniaboy for being a TON of help! They helped inspire some of the scenes and I am SUPER grateful for them lending a listening ear and helping me smooth out different ideas. Please go check out their work called "Of Our Days". It's full of lovely Albert/Arthur content!
> 
> <3

Arthur awoke early the next morning from a night full of restless sleep. He'd been up and down all night, his mind swimming with thoughts that ranged from John and his family, to his ransacked house, to the gang back home. Well, back in New York anyway. He couldn't really call the state his home anymore.

He sat up on the couch and rummaged through his satchel to look through the envelopes that he'd found in his mailbox. Most of it was junk mail all except for a letter from a Jim Milton and another from a Tacitus Kilgore. His brow furrowed at the one from Jim and he tore it open. He read over the cursive, realizing at once that the name on the return address was John's new alias. Arthur was relieved to find that everything was working out for him so far between the construction job and lying low. No one had recognized him despite his scars, and he was happy to finally have the opportunity to settle down with his family. The good news brought a smile to Arthur's face and he set the letter aside before opening the one from Dutch. He had recognized his handwriting on the front, and he drew a deep breath before reading what was inside.

So far, no one had found the body of the ammunition dealer nor their lakeside hideout. Dutch mentioned Hosea and how he was doing fine, and that the rest of the gang was content. The postscript, however, caused his eyebrows to pull together. Dutch had written mentioned the idea of Arthur possibly helping him with a job like the old days the next time he was in town. The suggestion, for reasons Arthur couldn't explain, rubbed him the wrong way and he tossed the letter to the side. He muttered under his breath and ran a hand over his face.

Surely he was more than just Dutch's workhorse.

Arthur heaved a sigh as Albert entered the room with his phone in his hands. He looked up at the photographer, finding that he was fully dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a gray sweater. A beanie covered his head and Arthur couldn't help but grin at the sight.

"Damn, I keep calling you a city slicker when I should really be calling you a hipster,"

Albert rolled his eyes, although he took the teasing comment in good stride. "Good morning to you too, Arthur."

He chuckled to himself, quickly forgetting the frustration he felt a second ago. "You’re up earlier than usual.”

“I am. I had difficulty sleeping last night.” Albert admitted. In fact, his mind had been racing ever since his head had hit the pillow. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Arthur had touched his palm or how tenderly he had brushed his hair out of his face. Albert had only been lightly dozing at the time, and the gesture had surprised him so badly he had pretended to be asleep. Thinking back to that moment, Albert felt silly for reacting the way he did, although he wasn’t sure what he would’ve said if he hadn’t.

“Me too,”

“Well, I think this calls for a trip to a local breakfast joint I’ve been eyeballing,” Albert said as he grabbed his wallet and keys off a nearby cabinet. “I’ll drive this time.”

“Sure, just let me get dressed first,”

They were out on the road shortly after and Albert followed Arthur’s directions to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant he had found on TripAdvisor. It was a small place, but Arthur knew of it nonetheless. While the café was just over an hour away in another small town known as Hanover, neither of them seemed to care about the distance. Arthur was content switching roles with Albert and being the passenger for once. At one of the few red lights, Albert unlocked his phone and opened his music app before handing it to Arthur.

“Here, I’ve had my fair share of playing DJ. It’s your turn now.”

Arthur cocked an eyebrow before skimming through the songs in his different playlists. He didn’t recognize most of the bands, so he decided to shuffle the songs in one of Albert’s indie-folk playlists.

While Arthur had never eaten at the café before, he discovered that it had been a good choice. The servers had been friendly, and the food was fresh as everything was made in-house. This time, Albert insisted on paying the tab, and after taking a short walk through the pretty town, they decided to start their drive back.

Somehow along the way, Albert had brought up the topic of social media and its ability to be both a positive and negative force. Arthur wasn’t sure what had spurred the topic, but he listened anyway despite his intentional avoidance of a presence on social media. The photographer had a tendency to get sidetracked with tangents, but he didn’t mind. Arthur enjoyed hearing Albert’s musings and ideas. The man was full of them, which meant that there was never a dull moment when he was around.

Arthur did, however, stop paying attention when something on the side of the road in the distance caught his eye. “Al, stop the car.”

Albert stopped mid-sentence as he glanced over at Arthur. “What?”

“I said, stop the car.”

While he couldn’t see what had stolen Arthur’s attention, he eased the sedan to a stop nevertheless. Albert squinted as he stared out at the road. “Why’d we stop?”

“If you look at the tree line to our right, you’ll see a moose,” he replied, “thought you might want to catch sight of one if you haven’t already.”

After some searching, Albert finally found the large moose grazing. His mouth fell open and he unbuckled his seatbelt and exited the car before Arthur could stop him.

Arthur swore under his breath as he followed suit. “What the hell are you doing, Al?”

“I want to get a closer look!” He replied in a hushed tone. “I didn’t bring my DSLR with me, and if I want to take a good shot with my phone, I have to get closer.”

“For the love—do you realize how aggressive those things can get?”

Albert waved off the rhetorical question before he withdrew his phone. “Just one quick photo, Arthur.”

Arthur glanced nervously at the large animal. It seemed passive for the most part as it fed on some grasses, but he knew it was mating season, and the hefty rack on the bull’s head had Arthur thinking twice about its peaceful demeanor. As Albert stepped closer, Arthur reluctantly stayed close to him. The photographer’s luck was terrible, and Arthur preferred to be safe rather than sorry.

The moose’s ears swiveled as a twig snapped underneath Albert’s foot. When it noticed them, its ears went back as its hairs raised. Arthur took an instinctive step backward as it turned to face them, its head lowered to the ground with the long prongs of its antlers promising violence.

“Dammit Al,” he hissed as his hand hovered over the pistol tucked between his waistband and the small of his back, “I’m serious we—”

The moose charged before he could finish. However, Arthur was quick to draw his pistol and fired three shots into the air. Albert dropped into a crouch behind Arthur, his arms raised to protect his head as the moose veered and disappeared into the forest.

Arthur tucked his firearm behind him before pulling Albert up onto his feet. “Come on! Snap out of it, you’re safe.”

He was a trembling mess as he tried to catch his breath. “My whole futile existence flashed before my eyes!”

“I told you they can be aggressive,” he grumbled as he gave Albert’s shoulder a pat.

“Well, that was certainly exciting!” He chuckled as he looked through the photos he’d taken.

Arthur looked over his shoulder as he did, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a lopsided grin. “At least those photos turned out alright.”

“Thank you!” He said before his eyebrows pulled together. “I didn’t realize you conceal carried.”

“I didn’t, not until my house was broken into,”

Albert studied him. “Wait, are you even legally allowed to possess a firearm?”

Arthur scratched the back of his neck. “Not really, but it beats getting run over by a moose among other things.”

He admittedly had a point there, although Albert tried not to think about the questionable legality of the situation.

By the time they got back to Albert’s apartment, it was early in the evening. As the sun lowered behind the mountains, it colored the sky in a beautiful gradient of reds and purples. Arthur smiled to himself as Albert paused to snap a photo of the sunset. By now Arthur was used to stopping every so often. Albert had a wonderful eye for potential photos, and Arthur found that he didn’t mind waiting for him when he paused to take a picture. In fact, Arthur was surprised by how much he had enjoyed sightseeing and exploring Hanover with Albert.

Arthur took a seat on the couch as Albert made his way to the bedroom to switch out his sweater for a thicker one. The temperature had dropped considerably, and despite only being outside for a few minutes, a chill had gripped him. As Arthur waited for his return, he relaxed into the cushions, content to simply sit. Although the rumbling of his stomach had brought to mind the topic of dinner. As Albert exited the bedroom, Arthur opened his mouth to ask him about it when several curt knocks on the front door interrupted him. The two of them exchanged an equally confused look, neither of them sure of who it could be. It crossed his mind that it might’ve been Charles, but his friend wasn't the type to come over unannounced. Arthur felt a sense of dread come over him that turned his blood to ice. He signaled for Albert to stay where he was as he rose to his feet and went over to the door.

He drew a steadying breath in through his nose before opening the door and his face blanched. It was the mustached gentleman from the diner they had eaten at about a week ago who had been watching him. Arthur's mouth went dry as the stranger smiled at him.

"Good evening, you're just the man I was hoping to find."

Arthur closed the door some, only keeping it wide enough to fit most of his broad frame in the open space. "I beg your pardon?"

Playing dumb had always been his first line of defense, but as Hosea had said, it was a thin veneer, and it appeared that the gentleman had the eyes to see right through it. "Please, Mr. Morgan, I'm not stupid. I know who you are, and what you have and haven't done."

A scowl contorted his features. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Agent Edgar Ross, I'm with the FBI and while I would gladly arrest you right here and now, your pardon prevents me from doing so. John Marston, on the other hand, escaped our grasp thanks to you. You don't by any chance know his current whereabouts, do you?"

Arthur let out a sound that was comparable to a snarl as he stepped outside and slammed the door behind him. "Listen here, Agent Ross, I ain't seen him since my arrest. Now you better get the fuck out of here and get your white-collar ass where I can't see it before I throw it off this damn property myself!"

His nostrils were flaring by now as his face flushed red. The audacity of the man in front of him had his anger running red hot through his veins. He was certain that the agent standing before him was the one who went through every nook and cranny of his house, and he had to clench his fists at his side to keep himself from doing anything irrational.

Ross looked him over with narrowed eyes before straightening his collar. "That better be the truth, Mr. Morgan. I don't want to have to come back here again and waste anymore of my time on an outlaw like you."

"I said _get out_ ," he growled out between gritted teeth.

He stared down the agent as he returned to his car and stood guard on the doorstep until his car had left his line of sight.

It was only then that Arthur let his shoulders drop with a shaky breath. He ran a hand over his face and stared up at the blood red sky.

How would he explain this to Albert?

Arthur ran a hand through his hair before reentering the house. Albert was still standing where he had told him to stay, his face pale and his fear written all over him. Arthur felt a stab of pain in his heart. It was his past and his carelessness that had caused that fear. Charles had warned him to be careful of dragging Albert into his mess, and he hated himself for making such a mistake and for risking the photographer’s safety.

Albert scratched the back of his neck as he searched for the right words to say. While he wanted to respect Arthur's privacy, he found himself stumbling upon kernels of his past regardless. It was as if he was tiptoeing through a minefield blindfolded. "Is there anything I can do, Arthur?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid there isn't."

"Are you in danger?"

"No, but a friend of mine might be," he sighed. "I’m sorry, but do you mind if I borrow your phone again?"

"Sure, of course,"

Arthur thanked him as he took the phone Albert handed to him. After glancing at John’s letter to check what construction company he was working at, Arthur stepped out back and Googled the number. It came up among the first few search results, and he clicked on the number to call it.

A gruff unfamiliar voice answered, and Arthur asked to speak to a Jim Milton. He listened to the hold music for a minute or two before it was cut short.

"Hello?" It was no doubt John. There was no mistaking his distinct raspy voice.

"Hey, it's Arthur,"

The line was silent for a moment, and Arthur feared that the call had dropped.

"Arthur? How in the...you know I'm on the clock right now, right? I mean, it's good to hear from you and all, but now ain't exactly the best time."

"I know, and I'm sorry to call but this is important. The feds are trying to sniff you out, John. They showed up on my doorstep today asking about you."

"Shit, wait, how did they find you in middle of fucking nowhere Alaska?”

"Don't know, but you just stay low and stay out of trouble, you hear?"

"I know, I know,"

Arthur muttered under his breath, lacking the patience he usually had for John’s dismissive comments. "I'm serious, Marston! This ain't some clueless, small town police department. This is the _FBI_ we're talkin' about, dammit!"

"I heard you the first time! I ain't a kid anymore." John retorted.

"Listen, you just take care of yourself and your family," Arthur said. “I’d hate to see something happen to you all after all that hard work getting settled somewhere.”

"I understand, thanks for the warning, Arthur. You stay safe now."

Arthur hung up and stepped back inside.

Arthur and Albert both agreed on eating leftovers from the night before and they took a seat at the kitchen table. Albert watched Arthur push his food around with his fork, a grim look etched on his face. He looked down at his own plate. Neither of them had eaten much. It was as if the agent had stolen their appetite as well as their desire to hold a conversation.

Albert finally set his fork down and folded his hands underneath his chin. “What do you think about going to the bar for a few drinks?”

 Arthur gave him a curious look. “I thought alcohol didn’t agree with you?”

“It doesn’t in excess, but one or two drinks won’t hurt.”

Arthur mulled over the suggestion. It was tempting. He had been dying for a drink since he’d found his home broken into. It had been nearly impossible for him to relax fully since then, and for a brief moment, he wondered what Charles would say about Albert’s proposition. Albert didn’t know what he was offering, and while he knew Charles wouldn’t approve, he decided to give in to his cravings.

“Sure, what the hell,” he said as he gathered their dirty dishes.

It was agreed that Albert would be the one to drive to the bar since the sedan was more discreet than Arthur’s Ford Bronco. Other than the barcode on the rear window, it blended right in with the other parked cars. As they stepped out into the cold, Albert was surprised to find that it was snowing. He held out his hand to catch a few flakes and smiled. They melted as they dusted his skin and he looked up at Arthur who had pulled up the collar of his jacket.

“It’s snowing!”

“Brilliant observation, Al,” Arthur teased.

Albert rolled his eyes and wiped his wet hand against his dark jeans as he studied the bar. “Say, isn’t this the same bar where we met?”

“Yep,” he grunted. In fact, it was the only bar within a reasonable driving distance that mostly welcomed him. Arthur knew several of the servers, and while one of the bartenders was a gossipmonger, he at least didn’t discriminate in the rumors he helped spread. He felt Albert tail closely behind as he entered the establishment. It was loud between the music and the chatter amongst the patrons, but no louder than usual.

Albert took in his surroundings as he sat beside Arthur at the counter. The photographer didn't drink often, and the last time he had been to a place remotely similar with someone else had been in his early twenties. Some college friends of his had dragged him out one night to try bar hopping, or at least that was what they had said. Albert had been too naive at the time to realize he was only invited to be a designated driver.

Albert shook his head of the memory. This was different.

 _Arthur_ was different.

A waitress spotted them almost immediately and she beamed. After taking another woman's order, she strolled over and leaned against the walnut countertop beside Arthur.

"It's been a while, Arthur. Where the hell have you been?" Her tone was light and playful despite the mild swear as she gave him a once over look.

Arthur chuckled. "I've been busy, Diane."

"Too busy to have a drink or two?" She asked as she raised an eyebrow.

"Apparently,"

Her brown eyes shifted to Albert. "And who's this?"

"This is my friend, Albert," he said, "we'll both take two shots of whiskey, darlin'."

She nodded, her brown curls bouncing with the movement. "Two shots each, coming right up,"

Albert looked over at Arthur. "I don't think I've ever tried whiskey shots before."

"It's good for you, puts hair on the chest," he chuckled.

Albert looked away, at the mention of that, the memory of Arthur’s bare chest returning to the forefront of his mind. He tried to ignore the mental image as he took in the decor of the establishment. He couldn't think of that now, and he was thankful for the colored lighting that helped disguise his blushing. The place was crowded like it had been the night when he'd first arrived in Alaska, he observed, and it wasn’t until he felt a tap on his shoulder that he turned around again.

There were two shots in front of him now, and Albert watched as Arthur downed both of his like they were water. His eyes flicked back to his own. Surely whiskey shots were no different than the hot toddies he occasionally ordered.

Albert brought the first to his lips and tilted his head back. While he had gotten the liquor down, he was left coughing as he felt the liquor burn his throat. His eyes brimmed with tears and Arthur laughed beside him as he ran a hand along his back.

"You don't have to drink that. It won't go to waste if you order something else." Arthur said as he ran his hand along Albert’s shoulder blades before giving his back a hefty pat.

"I'm fine," Albert said between coughs as he shivered from the light caress, "really, I just wasn't expecting it to burn so much!"

"That's whiskey for you," he said as he signaled the bartender for two more shots.

After Albert finished his second, he could feel a warmth flush his cheeks. The alcohol was already starting to affect him and watching Arthur continue to swig the liquor reminded him of how much of a lightweight he was. As he took a break to pace himself, he felt Arthur put a hand over his own. Albert jumped and instantly looked up to meet his gaze, taken off guard by the touch. Judging by Arthur’s large pupils and glassy eyes, he was no doubt tipsy.

"You want me to order you some water or something? Maybe a light beer?"

He was genuinely concerned, and the kind gesture warmed Albert's heart. His friends back home had always been derisive about his low tolerance for alcohol, and it was refreshing to be drinking with someone who cared about his comfort more than keeping appearances.

"Trust me, I'll get something if I need it," he smiled as he signaled for two more shots himself.

Arthur looked him over before giving his hand a light, lingering squeeze.

Albert still felt the touch after Arthur had removed his hand, which only made his smile wider as he downed his third whiskey.

By Albert's fourth shot, he felt the room begin to spin. He cleared his throat as he glanced over at Arthur to find that he was on his tenth. The man had a high tolerance for the stuff, but even he was looking much more relaxed and happier. A large, crooked grin pulled at his lips as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The carefree smile made Albert's heart flutter. He was glad to see that Arthur had dropped the stress he'd been carrying around. It had been weighing heavy on him all week.

Diane mirrored Arthur's smile as she returned to collect their empty glasses.

"You sure are setting yourself up for one helluva hangover, Arthur,"

"Life's too short to let tomorrow's hangover hold you back from livin’ a little," Arthur replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Mhm, says the gentleman now when he's a happy drunk," she teased.

"Aw c'mon Diane," he smirked as he pressed a chaste kiss to the back of her hand, "don't piss on my parade."

It was a small gentlemanly gesture, but it had Albert's lips forming a thin line as he glowered at her regardless.

She chuckled as she ran a hand along his shoulders, her fingers toying with the hair at the base of his neck. "Whatever you say, pretty boy,"

Albert watched her leave to wait on a table before his eyes flicked over to Arthur. They were unusually fiery, although Arthur was too intoxicated to notice. "Pretty boy?"

"Yeah, that's her nickname for me,"

"Nickname?" He asked with a raised brow.

"That's what I said," he huffed.

Albert's eyes narrowed a hair as his gaze found Diane again. As he watched her, it became painfully clear to him how she didn't flirt with any of the other patrons. Diane only had eyes for Arthur, whether he realized it or not, and Albert decided to take it upon himself to shed some light on the situation.

“Do you even realize she’s flirting with you?”

Arthur scoffed as he brought another glass to his lips. “She’s just being kind, Al. There ain’t no one in the whole damn world who wants to flirt with this sour-faced idiot.”

Albert scowled at the derogatory comment. “Not a single word of that is true!”

“And why do you care, hm?” Arthur asked as he locked eyes with him. The intensity of his stare rendered Albert speechless. There was a mischievous glint in his eye that Albert had never seen before, and Arthur continued when the photographer didn’t say a word. “Are you _jealous_ , Al?”

Albert’s heart pounded like a jackhammer in his throat. He felt like a rabbit who had been spotted by a fox, going stock-still as the predator moved in on his prey. Arthur leaned in closer as his gaze lowered to Albert’s lips. He felt his mouth go dry. Their mouths were mere inches apart, and Albert could smell the whiskey on Arthur’s breath and feel the heat of it. His lips parted in anticipation, waiting for Arthur to close what little distance was still between them.

The shrill screech of audio feedback through the speakers snapped them out of their trance. Arthur straightened himself as he whirled around in his seat. With as much stress as he had been under, Arthur had lost track of the days and had completely forgotten that Thursday nights had a few hours reserved for karaoke. He watched as a few waiters hooked up some handheld mics and adjusted the volume on the soundboard.

Albert drew a deep breath while Arthur was distracted and swallowed. His mind was left spinning as he tried to grasp what had happened.

Perhaps Arthur was drunker than he let on.

An older woman was the first to volunteer. The room went quiet to hear her sing, and people turned in their seats to watch her. She was well loved by the crowd, and a few of them cheered as she effortlessly hit every high note with skilled precision. The patrons in the bar applauded generously when she finished, and Albert was surprised when Arthur rose to his feet and took the mic from her hand. He covered the handheld as he requested a song from the DJ who nodded and scrolled through his laptop to find the track.

The music began to play, and Arthur’s stare reached through the crowd to meet Albert’s. He didn’t break eye contact as he started to sing, and it didn’t take long for Albert to recognize that the song was “You Make Me Smile”. Albert rested an elbow on the counter and tried to hide his face as Arthur started the first chorus.

This couldn’t be happening, and now he knew for certain that Arthur had lost his sanity.

Albert had succeeded in avoiding his gaze until a hand seized his wrist. A startled yelp escaped him as he looked up to find himself face to face with Arthur. The man was stubborn, and he made it clear that he wasn’t about to stop serenading Albert. His wide grin was more than enough proof of that.

Albert was pulled to his feet and dragged to the stage as Arthur finished the song. Shortly after, Arthur shoved a mic into the photographer’s hand as he told the DJ to play “Gravel on the Ground”. As the guitar riff started, he flashed Albert a crooked smile.

“What are you doing, Arthur?” Albert demanded, keeping his voice a whisper so the microphone wouldn’t pick up his words.

“I never sang with you in the car, so I’m makin’ up fer it,” he slurred.

“You’ve got quite the way of making up for things,” Albert huffed, although he couldn’t help the grin that twisted his lips. The whole situation was ridiculous, but he surprisingly didn’t mind.

“Well, you know what they say, go home or go big,”

He laughed. “That’s not how it—oh, never mind!”

The timbre of Albert’s voice was a tad higher than Arthur’s, and he tried his best to harmonize with Arthur’s more gravelly voice. The more they sang, the more Albert found himself letting his walls down and enjoying himself. As they came upon the second verse, Arthur focused all his attention on Albert. His stare was intense, and it nearly made Albert forget the words. Arthur took a step towards him as he pointedly held Albert’s gaze and kept it in place by sheer will alone.

_“So let's walk the road together. Who knows what we'll find tomorrow; maybe good times, maybe sorrow will be waitin' 'round the bend. Given time, two hearts discover what they're feelin' for each other; at the best we'll end up lovers, at the least we'll make a friend.”_

The moment passed as quickly as it had come. In four beats, Arthur’s usual crooked smile returned to his face as he sang the chorus without faltering. Albert, however, was having trouble recovering. The whole night had been confusing, and he wasn’t sure if Arthur was dropping hints or if he was reading too much into his drunken behavior. He shook his head and watched Arthur as he leaped onto an empty nearby table. Yet Arthur hadn’t seen the condensation that had been left behind from glasses that were no longer there. Albert froze as he watched him lose his balance and fall, his temple hitting the corner of another table on his way down.

A gasp rippled through the room as Albert and a few other patrons ran over to Arthur’s aid. He groaned out a string of swears from where he lied on the floor as he gingerly touched his fingers to his temple to check for any bleeding. They came away wet, and as more people gathered around him, he waved them off with his other hand. There wasn’t a question in his mind that he would be sore tomorrow, but for the time being, he cared more about his bruised ego than anything else.

The room spun around him and he stared up at Albert’s worried face and hoped it would anchor him. The photographer was saying something to him, but Arthur couldn’t hear him over the pounding in his head. Diane’s face was quick to appear beside Albert’s, and Arthur watched in amusement as his concerned expression turned sour. Albert had been watching Diane like a hawk most of the night, although Arthur couldn’t put his finger on why her harmless flirting bothered the photographer so much. Any bystander might have said the reason was obvious and that Albert fancied him, but Arthur knew better. He’d been abandoned and burned too many times to fall for that again.

Or at least that was what he told himself.

The two of them helped him to his feet, and Albert shouldered Arthur’s weight to support him. They followed Diane into a dimly lit room in the back that could only be an employee lounge. Albert’s nose wrinkled at the musty smell from the old carpet, but he was thankful for the reprieve from the incessant noise in the bar. With a grunt, he helped Arthur into a metal folding chair as Diane rummaged through the small freezer compartment of a minifridge.

Arthur winced as Diane placed an ice pack to his temple after pressing an old cloth to the cut. He could feel the minor injury swelling already, and it was tender to the touch. Albert curtly thanked her and took the pack from her hand to do it himself. Arthur smirked at his reaction and gave her a courtesy wave as she left the room.

A frown settled on Albert's face. "Would you stop that?"

“Stop what?”

“Encouraging her,”

Arthur chuckled and took the ice from Albert's hand before offering it to him. "Here, you might want this to cool yerself down."

Albert shoved his hand away. "Do you have any idea how childish your behavior has been?"

"Maybe a little,” he mused, “why don’t you just admit that you're jealous?"

Albert froze. Arthur had seen right through him. He always did. Any other day he would've shrunken back from the accurate observation, but the whiskey was still coursing through his veins, and his inhibitions were still down. "What's your problem, Arthur?"

"What's _my_ problem?” He exclaimed with a tone that was thick with disbelief. “I ain't the one throwin’ a hissy fit!"

"Well, you might not be, but you aren't exactly innocent either!"

Arthur scoffed. "The hell you talkin' about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about! The touches? Serenading me? Nearly _kissing_ me? Just what exactly is your angle?" Albert was nearly shouting now as he took a step towards him, his face hot and pinched with frustration. He was through playing Arthur’s game. Albert couldn’t take much more of it. He was frustrated to the point of bursting. A part of him had hoped Arthur wasn’t just fooling around with him, and even the mere thought that it was just drunken antics pained him.

Arthur slowly rose to his feet, swaying slightly as the room continued to spin. They stood mere inches apart, blazing hazel eyes meeting sad, yet steady blues.

"This is my angle," Arthur finally answered. His voice was just above a whisper as he cupped Albert's face. Before the photographer could reply, he found his lips captured by Arthur's chapped ones. It was a sloppy kiss, their lips not quite finding the others completely on the first try. Arthur was quick to tilt his head to adjust the angle, his mouth fitting with Albert's better this time. The tension left the photographer's muscles almost instantly as he melted into Arthur's touch. He had been craving this moment for a while, and to finally have it was nothing short of euphoric. Albert closed his eyes as he brought a hand up to Arthur's neck to pull him closer. He wanted to drink in all of Arthur. The taste of whiskey, the smell of his cologne, even the softness of his hair. It was everything he’d imagine it would be and more.

When Arthur pulled away just enough to come up for air, they were both flushed and breathless. Other than the sound of their heavy breathing and the muffled music from the bar just outside, the room was silent. They gazed into each other’s eyes, and it was only when Albert had started to move in for another kiss that Arthur looked away and cleared his throat.

“I think it’s time we call Charles to come pick us up,”

Albert swallowed and took a half step back. “Right, I’ll give him a call,”

Charles wasn’t happy to receive such a late call, although Albert was grateful that he tried to hide his frustration once he realized who had called him. His voice over the line had been groggy from sleep, and when Albert had mentioned they could get an Uber instead of troubling him, Charles insisted that they wait for him.

Arthur watched him, the ice pack pressed to his temple again, as Albert hung up and tucked his phone away. “Well?”

“He said he’s on his way,”

“Anything else?”

Albert hesitated. “No, but he didn’t sound pleased.”

Arthur groaned knowing an earful from his friend was waiting for him in the morning. He watched Albert walk over to the far side of the room to stare at some photos.

A lot was waiting for him in the morning.

There was now an awkward silence between them thanks to his impulsivity, and he regretted the move he had made on Albert. Yet kissing him had been so easy. Albert had been so pliant as if he had wanted it too, had even tried to pull Arthur closer, had parted his mouth and...

Arthur lowered his gaze to the floor and scowled. No, they were both stupid drunk doing drunk stupid things. Arthur had merely slipped and let his guard down while Albert had simply been along for the ride, and Arthur only hoped both of them would forget every second of it. Put it all behind them and carry on as if nothing happened. They were only friends, but the deep yearning in Arthur’s heart said otherwise. A part of him didn't want to pretend they hadn't kissed and wanted to remember the softness of Albert's lips in the morning.

But Albert wasn't his, would never be his, and the more Arthur tried to drill that into his head the more he wished otherwise. His internal conflict raged the more he tried to fight it, and for a moment he wished he was waiting on death row instead of waiting for a ride.

 

The morning light that Albert usually enjoyed waking up to was blinding. He winced as he brought a hand up to cover his eyes and rolled over. His head was pounding, and his whole body ached. With a groan, he pulled a pillow over his head to block out the light.

Albert couldn’t remember the last time he’d drank so much. Most of the night was a blur to him. However, he did recall a few snapshots from the night. The first thing he remembered was the idiocy of his defensiveness regarding the waitress’ flirtatious behavior. The way she had touched and talked to Arthur was such an inconsequential thing, yet it had been a thorn in his side that night nonetheless, and he hadn’t exactly been quiet about it either. He also remembered singing karaoke with Arthur, although he wasn’t sure if he’d been any good at it. Then Arthur had taken a spill, and the two of them had been arguing in another room when…

His thoughts came to a screeching halt, and he pulled the pillow off his head in a flurry. His heart stuttered, and his eyes snapped open as he remembered the brief intimate moment between them. Albert swallowed hard. At first, he tried to convince himself it was all a dream, but as he replayed the kiss in his mind, he realized how real it had been. He felt his face turn beet red and his fatigue dissipated with the sudden racing of his heart. Albert had wanted to sleep more, but between the blood pumping through his veins and the smell of fresh coffee, it was nigh impossible.

Albert stood and changed out of the clothes he was still wearing from the night before. As much as he wanted to stay in bed all day, he knew he would have to face Arthur eventually. Albert's mind raced as he tried to figure out what he would say if Arthur brought up the kiss.

Did Arthur regret it, or had something changed in their friendship?

Albert drew a deep breath, grabbed his cane, and opened his bedroom door.

Arthur was up as he'd expected, fully dressed and leaning against the counter. A scowl contorted his features as he glared at the coffee dripping into the coffee pot. His eyes were nearly squinted shut as the blinding light poured in through the kitchen's window. Albert had to blink several times himself as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight reflecting off the snow outside.

"Good morning," Albert greeted as he took a seat at the kitchen island.

"Ain't nothin’ good about it," he muttered.

"At least you aren't waking up in a hospital bed," although in hindsight, Albert realized that they probably should've gotten him checked for a concussion. He hadn't had the wherewithal to consider such a thing, but he took some comfort knowing Charles would've forced him to go if it was bad enough. Regardless, he was glad Arthur had woken up without a problem.

He merely grunted in response as his fingers absentmindedly traced the outline of the bandage Charles had put on the cut last night. "How did I get this anyway?"

Albert felt his breath catch in his throat as his heart dropped. "You don't remember?"

Arthur shook his head but winced from the movement and rested his head in his hands. "All I remember is singing karaoke and drinkin'."

"Well, you hit your head on the side of a table after slipping on the one you had jumped on."

"Did I do anything else stupid?"

"No, no that was it,"

Arthur lifted his head to give him a questioning look. His reply had been abrupt and curt, and his eyes were now lowered to the wooden countertop. The photographer fidgeted under his gaze. There was something he wasn't telling Arthur. That much was clear. Hell, it was the only clear thought in Arthur's clouded mind.

He was tempted to press him on it when the ache in his head intensified at the sound of the coffee pot beeping. Arthur grimaced at the shrill noise and placed his hands over his ears until it had finished.

The two of them drank their coffee in silence. There was a mutual desire for peace and quiet. Neither Albert nor Arthur had been left unscathed by the alcohol they'd drank. It didn't last long, however, when Albert's phone rang. The sudden sound was startling, and Albert rested a hand over his racing heart as he checked the caller ID. It was Charles, and he answered it as it rang for the third time.

"Hello?"

"Morning Albert, would you kindly pass the phone to Arthur for me?"

Albert nodded to himself and held out his cellphone to Arthur. "Charles wants to talk to you."

Arthur was quick to take the phone from his hand and he hung up without a word before setting it down on the counter.

Albert's brow furrowed. "Why did you do that?"

"I'm not in the mood to get chewed out,"

"And you think hanging up on him is going make the odds of that any better?" The ringing of Albert's phone answered his own question, and he slid the device closer to Arthur. “I’m not answering it this time.”

Arthur swore under his breath and picked up the phone. "What?"

"What the hell were you thinking yesterday?"

"Charles—”

"I thought we agreed it was a good idea to stay low,"

Arthur sighed. "Yeah, I hate to break it to you but that all went to shit yesterday."

"Well getting shitfaced and singing karaoke in a small town tends to do that,"

"That's not—you don't understand. An FBI agent showed up yesterday evening asking about John."

The line went silent.

"Charles?"

"So you thought the best way to deal with that was to go clubbing?"

Arthur glanced at Albert before looking away. "Well when you put it that way..."

"Seriously, Arthur? You're better than that,"

"I know, I wasn't thinking,"

"I agree, but I'm glad you're okay. Take it easy with that hangover and stay out of trouble."

"Thanks,"

He passed the phone back to Albert after hanging up.

"I'm sorry, going out for a few drinks was my terrible idea," Albert said as he ran a hand through his messy hair.

"You didn't know, Al," Arthur replied as he rose to his feet, "you got any aspirin?"

"There's some in the cabinet over the sink. I’ll take two myself, please."

Arthur opened the plastic bottle and placed the capsules into Albert’s hand. The brief touch and Albert’s smile forced him to pause, bringing to mind how he had been more physically affectionate with the photographer at the bar. The next memory invaded his mind without warning, reminding him all to vividly of their kiss.

The sound of the pill bottle hitting the floor snapped him out of his shock and he jumped. Arthur swore loudly as he dropped down to the floor to pick up the capsules that had spilled out.

“Oh dear! Let me help you with that, Arthur!” Albert said as he slid off the bar stool.

Arthur held up a hand to stop him and straightened himself. Although he had misjudged where the countertop of the island ended and smacked his head against the side of it in his haste. He grimaced as he brought a hand to the top of his head. His head was pounding like a bass drum, and he leaned against the counter as he waited for the pain to dissipate. Albert’s brow furrowed in concern and he waited a moment before taking Arthur’s head in his hands to examine the new bump.

Arthur flinched away from the touch; his face nearly as red as the shirt he was wearing. “I’m fine, Albert,”

“Are you sure? That’s the second bump to the head you’ve gotten in less than twenty-four hours.” Albert said as he studied him. The man had become uncharacteristically jumpy, and Albert couldn’t tell what had set him off.

“Yes,” he insisted, “just hurts like hell,”

“Well I figured as much,” Albert said with an apologetic smile.

Arthur was unable to look him in the eye and he ducked down to finish picking up the pills off the floor. Shame was quickly replacing the embarrassment he felt. His inebriated-self had taken advantage of Albert to steal a kiss, or that’s how he remembered it anyway. Arthur mentally cursed himself for the stupid mistake. The regret he felt made his head swim, and he desperately hoped Albert didn’t remember any of it.

 He left the pill bottle on the counter and abruptly excused himself under the guise that he needed to chop more firewood for them. Arthur drank in the cold air as he pulled his jacket close. He gulped it down in great lungfuls, but he was dismayed when it did nothing to clear his head.

Arthur grabbed the ax and wheelbarrow and trudged his way through the six inches worth of snow to the chopping stump and set to work. His muscles protested with each swing, still sore from his fall from the night before, and his head rang every time the blade of the ax bit into the wood. However, the physical activity was only a temporary reprieve, and once his swings lost their precision, he tossed the ax to the side and leaned against a tree. He sunk into the snow and pressed a handful of it to his face.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so unsure of himself. He couldn’t trust himself, and there was no telling if he had ruined his friendship with Albert. The photographer would be too kind to bring it up or treat him any different.

Eventually, he rose to his feet and collected the chopped logs and hauled the wheelbarrow back to the apartment. It baffled him when Albert warmly greeted him and placed a warm cup of hot chocolate in his hands.

“What’s this?” he asked, his confusion bleeding into his tone.

“It’s homemade hot chocolate. I used my own recipe. You were out there for a while, so I thought you might need something to help you warm up.” Albert replied.

Arthur studied him, uncertain why he was being so thoughtful. He reasoned, and hoped, that Albert had forgotten about his blunder in the backroom of the bar. For a moment, Arthur searched his warm eyes for any sign of what he did or didn’t know. When he found nothing, he quietly thanked him for the warm drink and took a seat on the armchair.  

Albert frowned. Something was still bothering Arthur. His demeanor hadn’t changed since he left, and it was as if he had fortified the walls he had once let down. It struck him as odd that Arthur had become skittish, and Albert only hoped the change in his behavior was only a byproduct of his hangover.


	8. Breaking Through

Albert cast a sideways glance Arthur’s way as they drove down the road that was now lined with golden trees that were frosted with snow. They sparkled with the radiant sunlight that shone on them, but for once, Albert was more focused on Arthur than he was on the picture-perfect landscape. The man who sat next to him with sunglasses over his eyes felt more like the Arthur he’d first met. Their interactions since Friday had been curt and stiff despite Albert’s best efforts. For the last three days, he had tried anything and everything between acts of service and words of affirmation to get the real Arthur back but to no avail. It was as if Albert had been shut out again, but he wasn’t about to give up breaking through the thick cement walls around Arthur’s heart. Albert only had two days left before he returned to New York, and he was determined to make some sort of progress in what little time he had.

Not being able to take the silence anymore, Albert rifled through some tapes until he found the Eagles self-titled album. He fed it into the cassette player and smiled to himself as the familiar guitar riff of “Take It Easy” began. Albert sang along to the first verse, occasionally glancing at Arthur to look for even the smallest crack in his stoic expression.

“Come on, Arthur! I _know_ you know this one, and you have a wonderful singing voice!”

Arthur only grunted, his countenance settling like cement.  

Albert didn’t let it deter him, however, as he retrieved his phone from his pocket and snapped a photo of Arthur behind the wheel. With the sleeves of his flannel rolled up, the sunlight had been shining handsomely on his sculpted arms and the blur of golden hues and sparkling whites outside made for a gorgeous background.

Albert was lucky to catch the moment when he did. Arthur was quick to push the phone away, his expression breaking briefly and shifting into a mild grimace. “Would you quit that already?”

“Quit what?”

“Taking photos of me, it’s annoying,”

Albert frowned. “But you’re stunning.”

Arthur muttered something incomprehensible under his breath and shook his head. “You’re delusional, Albert,”

“I might be, but at least I’m enjoying myself,” he studied him for a moment, “what’s gotten into you? You haven’t been the same since we…since we went to the bar. Something’s changed.”

His grip on the wheel tightened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do,”

Arthur had to bite his tongue to restrain the scathing remark that threatened to spill from his lips. While he had been trying to push Albert away, he didn’t want to hurt him. Yet no matter how hard he tried to put distance between them, it seemed Albert was determined to take a step forward whenever Arthur took a step back. It frustrated him to no end, and every single one of Albert’s attempts to breach his defenses felt like salt in a wound that was already aggravated. He wanted to let his walls down, but it was impossible for him to repress his romantic feelings for the photographer. Arthur wanted to be his friend, but he couldn’t help the flutter in his heart nor the flip in his stomach every time Albert smiled at him. Keeping Albert out made his heart twist painfully in his chest, but he reasoned it was better than the possibility of being rejected and ruining their friendship.

They eventually reached the quaint coffee shop that was in town, and Arthur led the way inside. He ordered two cups of coffee and fixed Albert’s for him as the photographer took a seat at their usual table by the window. Arthur sat down across from him, and Albert thanked him for the coffee. The unrelenting silence settled between them once again, and Albert fidgeted with the sleeve of his sweater.

It was going to be a long two days.

They had almost finished their coffee when Albert looked up to see two strangers approaching them. The blood drained from his face as he recognized them from the last time he’d been at the coffee shop. It was the same guy who had confronted Albert when he had accidentally spilled his coffee. The man had grown out his dark beard since then, and with a smirk, he rested his hand on the back of Arthur’s chair. Albert’s eyes flicked to Arthur as the man intruded his space. Arthur had stiffened, his hard gaze fixed on his coffee as he scowled.

“Saw you two Thursday night drinking your weight’s worth in whiskey. That was some show you two put on. I mean, I guess the karaoke was good too.” He snickered.

“Funny, your mouth’s moving, but all I hear is bullshit,” Arthur retorted.

He scoffed. “You should’ve seen the way you lovebirds were gazing at each other! And all that serenading, you looked ridiculous!”

His hands curled into fists on the table. The man was quickly whittling away at what little patience he had. “Sounds like you’re asking for another black eye.”

“Apparently the jailbird can’t take a joke, what a shame,” the man leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “I’m just having a little harmless fun with you, so I wouldn’t do anything irrational if I were you. Then again, maybe you _should_ do something. Perhaps the police would put you behind bars where you belong.”

Arthur was on his feet in an instant, and his chair protested loudly with a screech as it slid back against the wood floor. He took a menacing step forward into the man’s space, his chest was heaving by now as a fire kindled to life behind his eyes. “Now you’re _really_ askin’ for it.”

Albert hastily rose from his seat, forcing himself between them as he placed a hand on his broad chest. “Let’s go, Arthur. You’re better than this.”

He blinked as his gaze shifted to Albert. “But he—”

“He _wants_ a reaction, and you’re giving it to him,”

Arthur scowled, his eyes shifting between Albert and the man. Without another word, he took hold of Albert’s bicep and pulled him along as he left the coffee shop. The sound of the two men snickering behind them only made Arthur’s blood boil even more as he stalked over to his truck.

His anger was still simmering when they reached the house, and Arthur had to make a conscious effort not to slam the door after him as he followed Albert inside. “Why the hell did you intervene?”

Albert turned, his head tilting at the question. “I beg your pardon?”

“That man deserved what was comin’ to him before you stepped in,”

“Yes, I’ll give you that, but bar fights and duels are no longer socially acceptable, and I wasn’t going to sit there like a bump on a log and watch you step right into that jerk’s trap.”

Arthur muttered under his breath as he folded his arms across his chest. Albert was right.

Albert studied him for a moment before a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You know, you can still have that fight you were looking forward to having.”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re clearly still a little hot and bothered, and there’s plenty of snow outside. It may not be your typical fisticuffs, but I’m sure a little snowball fight will help you let off some steam.”

Arthur held up a hand. “First of all, that phrase don’t mean what you think it means. Hot under the collar’s what you’re lookin’ for. Second, a snowball fight? Really?”

“Why not? There’s three feet of good snow out there! I’ll even make some hot chocolate afterward.”

He mulled it over as he set his keys down on the counter, and Albert waited for his answer with bated breath. After a moment, Arthur gave in with a sigh. “What the hell, sure. Go get some layers on so you don’t freeze.”

Albert lit up like a Christmas tree, and he disappeared to layer up before Arthur could change his mind. Arthur’s lips quirked up in a grin as he pulled a sweater over his flannel and shrugged on his winter coat. The last time he had played in the snow was when he and John were kids, and that had been a long time ago. He recalled the memory with fondness, remembering how he’d managed to get a tree limb to dump a load of snow on John’s head.

The sound of the bedroom door opening distracted him from the memory, and he pulled on a pair of mittens. Albert did the same, and once they had their boots on, they stepped outside.

“I say we go behind the house some. I did some exploring yesterday while you were hunting with Charles and there’s a clearing back there from the looks of it.” Albert said as he straightened his beanie.

“Don’t want to play in the trees I see,”

“No, because then it would be an unfair fight,”

Arthur laughed. “You afraid I’d sneak up behind you or somethin’?”

“Maybe,” he grinned, “you also have hunting experience, and the thought of being hunted by you is a little frightening.”

“So what, are we gonna be on separate sides? Is that how we’re gonna do this?”

“I’m open to anything, but yes. That’s what I envisioned.”

“Alright,” Arthur said as he pulled up his layers of sleeves to check the time, “I say we take five minutes to prep before it’s a free for all.”

“Sounds good to me! I’ll go over to the far side.”

Arthur waited until Albert found a place to stop before he began making a stockpile of snowballs. His brow furrowed as his first few attempts crumbled in his hands, but it didn’t take long until he remembered how to make a proper snowball.

When five minutes were up, Arthur withdrew a mitten to whistle at Albert. The sound echoed off the snow and immediately caught the photographer’s attention. “You ready, city slicker?”

“You bet, Mr. Morgan,”

Arthur chuckled to himself, his breath forming a cloud as he returned his hand to the welcomed warmth of his mitten.

For the first ten or so minutes, Arthur took it easy on the photographer. While he wasn’t necessarily weak, he certainly couldn’t throw as far as Arthur could, nor was he very accurate. It brought a smile to Arthur’s face that was wide enough for him to make out from where he stood, and as long as Arthur was grinning from ear to ear, Albert didn’t care if he won or lost. Restoring some joy to the man was not only his goal but also its own kind of reward. It was a priceless grin that the photographer could spend hours looking at.

Albert threw another snowball with a little more force after one had hit his shoulder with enough strength behind it to make the impact of it sting. His hands immediately shot up to cover his mouth, and his eyes flew wide after the packed snow smacked Arthur right in the face. As he wiped the snow off, Albert could see that he’d wiped his smile off too, but his scowl was quickly replaced by a smirk as he grabbed a snowball and sprinted right for Albert.

While he could tell Arthur was playing, Albert couldn’t help the surprised shout that left his lips as he scrambled to put some distance between them. The thick snow only hampered his getaway as he tried to run faster, however, he was so focused on getting through the snow that he didn’t notice the crunching beneath his feet turning into subtle cracking.

Arthur was quickly gaining on the photographer, his smirk growing as he pictured himself tackling Albert to the ground. He would enjoy the petty payback, and he would probably tease him some and pin him in the snow like he used to with John and—

His heart dropped as Albert disappeared.

He froze as the snow gave way to the dark water below.

In a split second, he was back in Chicago on that hot summer day staring at the dried blood on the concrete, the stench of cordite still in the air. Arthur couldn’t breathe, his chest painfully locked up.

Then, like the flip of a switch, he felt the freezing air biting at his skin again as it blew around him and he remembered to breathe. His legs moved on their own, swiftly carrying him to the broken ice as he removed a mitten. Arthur slid onto his stomach and plunged his arm in without hesitating, searching the frigid water for anything, the fear in his stomach as cold as the water that had swallowed Albert. His hand finally grasped something solid, and he seized it with a vice-like grip as he pulled with all his strength.

Albert breached the surface sputtering and gasping for breath, and he clung to Arthur as he was pulled away from the break and dragged back to where the ice was thicker. His whole body was violently shivering. Albert didn’t even know his bones could shake so bad. It was the only movement his body was capable of, and he squeezed his eyes shut from the searing pain induced by the cold.

Arthur didn’t waste time. He was fighting against the clock to keep Albert from succumbing to hypothermia. The photographer was already in shock, and the wet clothes that still clung to him only continued to suck what little heat was left in his body. Arthur lifted him and held him close as he ran as quickly as he could back to the house.

Once inside, Arthur set Albert down in front of the wood-burning stove and put another two logs in before stripping the stiff clothes that continued to make Albert shiver. He started with taking off his coat and layered shirts, and Arthur couldn’t help but swear at how many there were.

“Dammit, Al, when I told you to layer up, I didn’t mean to wear your whole fucking closet!” Arthur’s tone had a sharp edge to it, one that stemmed from fear more than anger.

“S-s-sorry,” he stuttered quietly through chattering teeth.

Arthur mentally scolded himself for how harsh his tone was. It had been an accident, and it wasn’t Albert’s fault that the incident had thrown Arthur’s worst fears and repressed grief in his face all at once. When he had finally removed all the layers to reveal Albert’s slim chest that was covered in goosebumps, the sight made Arthur’s heart skip a beat, and he swallowed hard as he forced himself to stay focused. Now wasn’t the time nor the place to gawk, and he really had no right to, anyway. However, Arthur’s lingering gaze wasn’t lost on Albert, and he was thankful that his skin was already dappled with goosebumps.

He set to work on Albert’s belt buckle and pulled it free from the loops before tossing it aside in the growing pile of soggy clothes. Arthur’s eyebrows drew together as he peeled the jeans off him. He tried his best not to think about the fact that he’d undressed Albert almost completely, leaving him in nothing but his drawers, and Arthur especially tried to ignore the fact that Albert had watched him with an unwavering gaze as he did.

Arthur draped a thick throw blanket around his shoulders and pulled it close across his chest. Their eyes locked for a second, and Arthur became painfully aware of the heat that climbed up his neck. “You, uh, think you can get the rest?”

Albert nodded.

“I’ll leave you to it then. You should get some dry clothes on once you stop shaking.”

“T-thank you,” he replied as he scooted closer to the warm stove. Arthur nodded and left his side by going into the kitchen to give him some privacy in addition to the blanket that was covering him. He scratched his head as he tried to recall the hot cocoa recipe Albert had rattled off to him a few days ago. His gaze shifted to the photographer as he thought about asking him. While Albert’s shivering had lessened, Arthur decided to figure it out himself as the man rested.

As he worked over the stove, his mind relentlessly replayed the moment Albert had fallen through. Arthur had been convinced he was a goner. It had happened so suddenly, and Arthur had been overwhelmed with a sense of helplessness as he had searched the water. At that moment, it had become painfully clear to him that his feelings toward Albert were deeper than he’d thought. There was no other explanation for the tremor that lingered in his hands nor the tightness that still tied his stomach into knots. Albert had nearly died, had almost disappeared for good.

Had almost lost Albert like he’d lost Eliza and Isaac. Arthur had been too late to save them, and he had nearly made the same mistake with Albert.

The thought alone was almost too much to bear. It forced Arthur to pause, and he tried to focus on drawing deep breaths instead of letting the crippling guilt crush him.

As he let the hot chocolate warm up, Arthur shed his sweater and switched out his damp shirt for a dry one. Eventually, Albert went into his bedroom to change and came out wearing sweatpants and a violet hoodie. His shoulders were slumped forward, and his eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion. Arthur had to do a double take as his eyes caught the abbreviation in bold white letters on his sweatshirt.

“You went to NYU?” He asked as he poured out the hot chocolate into two mugs.

“I, well,” he started as he scratched the back of his neck, “I did for about a year and tried going the visual and performing arts route, but it’s cheaper to teach yourself using the internet. My parents weren’t too happy when they found out, though. ‘Why can’t you be more like your sister’, they said. The thing is, though, my sister and I aren’t competitive. She never liked it when they pulled that card.”

“You have a sister?”

“A younger one, yes. Her name’s Heather.”

“Sounds like she’s the only one you’re close to in your family,”

“My ladder was _adjacent_ to my cube, remember?” Albert asked with a small smile. “I appreciate my parents, but I’m not close to them. Enough about me, though, what was _your_ schooling like?”

He shrugged. “School was never really my thing. I moved around a lot and was charged with truancy more times than I can count. I dropped out as soon as I could.”

“Did you have family in the military? Is that why you moved frequently?”

Arthur hesitated as he handed Albert a mug. “No, my parents died when I was young, and I got shuffled around to different homes for four years until I was fifteen. I was nothing but trouble, and then…” His voice trailed off as he lowered his eyes to study the wood grain of the countertop.

Albert cocked his head as he took a seat at the kitchen island. “Then what?”

Arthur dismissed his question with a wave of his hand. “Forget I said anything about it. Why don’t we sit where it’s warm and comfortable?”

Albert didn’t have the energy to press Arthur for answers, and the suggestion was the best idea Albert had heard all day. He shuffled his way to the loveseat where he pulled a blanket over him once again. There was still a chill he couldn’t shake, and he was beyond grateful for the hot cocoa Arthur had made him. He tiredly watched Arthur make his way to the armchair he usually sat in before patting the empty space beside him.

“Do you mind sitting here? The change of clothes helped, but I don’t think I have enough body heat to warm myself up yet.”

Arthur hesitated before finally giving in to the simple request. Albert spread the blanket over Arthur’s legs before leaning into his side, seeking the warmth that seemed to roll off him. He was so warm, and Albert couldn’t help but close his eyes as he soaked it in.

“Thank you, Arthur, for pulling me out. I’ve proved my idiocy on more than one occasion, but I thought for sure that this time I was really…” Albert’s voice faltered, and he bit his lip. He hated the way his lungs hitched, and he was tired of feeling inept in every way. His plunge had left him drained in every sense of the word; emotionally, mentally, and physically.

Arthur gently shushed him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Hey, now, you ain’t an idiot. To be honest with you, I was scared to death back there myself. I know I’ve helped you before, but as I stared into those dark waters, I thought for sure I’d lost you.”

“It happened so fast,”

“Sure did,” he drew a deep breath as he gathered his thoughts. When he continued, his voice was soft and low as if it would break if he spoke any louder. “Al, I was so scared you weren’t going to resurface. For a moment, I was convinced I had lost one of the best things to have ever happen to me.”

“Arthur—”

“I ain’t finished. You were right about what you said in the car, about how somethin’ had changed. I guess I’ve _been_ afraid of losing you. That kiss at the bar? That was more than me being a drunk fool. I meant it, and once I sobered up, I guess I was afraid you’d give me the boot.”

“So, you tried shutting me out to keep from getting hurt?”

“I guess, although it hurt like hell anyway,”

Albert’s silence had Arthur bracing for the worst. What was he doing? He was letting his walls crumble for a photographer from New York that he had known for less than six weeks. Arthur mentally cursed himself for making such a foolish mistake. He should’ve known better than to put so much trust in a person he’d only recently met.

Albert’s hand intertwining with his derailed his negative train of thought. Arthur nearly flinched away, but quickly recovered as he let out a sigh of relief. Albert’s hand was warm from being wrapped around his mug, and Arthur smiled as he felt his tension melt away.

“It’s about time you said something about this,” Albert hummed.

“Yeah, well, I had to bring it up before you mistook another lake for a clearing,”

He made a tsk sound. “Don’t you have any faith in me?”

“It’s your _luck_ I don’t have any faith in,” Arthur said as he gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad you’re alright, Al.”

“All thanks to you. With the way this trip has gone, perhaps I should’ve pursued a career in being a damsel in distress.”

“I,” he chuckled to himself, “you sure do make me laugh that way you talk about yourself, Al.”

“Well, I’m good for laughing at, if nothing else,”

“That ain’t what I meant, and as much as you yell at me for talkin’ down about myself, you ain’t much better,”

“You’re right, I’ve been quite the hypocrite. Maybe the two of us would make some progress in the self-esteem department if we helped each other? Accountability goes a long way.”

“Sure, if that’s what you want,”

He smiled as he lifted his mug to his lips. “It is indeed,”

They watched the warm flames dance inside the stove as they drank their hot cocoa. Both of them were spent from Albert’s near-death experience, and their silence was comfortable as they freely enjoyed the closeness of the other. After setting his empty mug aside, Albert felt his eyelids droop the longer he watched the hypnotizing fire. He must’ve fallen asleep at some point because the next thing he knew, he was in Arthur’s arms and was carried into his bedroom. Arthur gently set him down before pulling the thick blankets over him. There was already a warmth blooming in Albert’s chest, and the gesture only made it grow.

Arthur studied Albert fondly. It was the most relaxed he had seen him. Albert was lying peacefully in his bed, his chest rising and falling slowly. Yet as Arthur turned to leave, he felt a hand pull at his shirttail. He turned to see Albert grasping his shirt with a pleading look in his eye.

“Stay, please?”

Arthur merely nodded and lifted the blankets to scoot in beside him. With Albert’s back to his chest, Arthur closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His heart raced in his chest as Albert pulled his arm over and around his waist. It had been a long time since he’d been this close with someone, and he savored every second of it. Arthur didn’t want to move ever again, and the thought made him realize how touch starved he was. He nuzzled his face into Albert’s neck, and he grinned as the photographer shivered.

“Please, Arthur, that tickles,”

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest. He made a mental note about the ticklish spot, and it wasn’t long after that he slipped into a deep sleep.

 

Albert blinked his heavy eyes open a few times as he awoke. He had slept soundly, more soundly than he had in weeks, and he smiled as he found Arthur’s arm still wrapped around him. Judging by the rhythm of his light snoring, Albert found that for once he had woken up before Arthur. He smiled to himself as he carefully untangled himself from Arthur. There wasn’t much distance between him and the edge of the bed since it was a queen, and Albert found it easy enough to get to it without waking Arthur.

After grabbing his phone, he shuffled his way into the kitchen to get a fresh pot of coffee going. His joints popped as he stretched, and he checked his Instagram as the coffee pot hissed and gurgled. He leaned against the counter as he posted his latest photos of Hanover, the moose, and Arthur. The caption he wrote was shorter than his last, only briefly detailing his adventure in the small town that neighbored Cairn. He did sign off, however, by mentioning he would miss Cairn and that he would be returning to New York tomorrow.

Albert admired his post for a brief moment before he slapped his forehead in exasperation. He’d nearly forgotten about his red-eye flight, and he hadn’t even started the process of packing. His eyes scanned the apartment, and he sighed before taking a large sip of coffee. He had quite the task ahead of him, and he needed all the caffeine he could get to conquer it.

It was about an hour later when Arthur finally appeared from the bedroom. His hair was disheveled, sticking this way and that, and his shirt was entirely wrinkled. He ran a hand over his face, feeling both disoriented and well rested. It’d been too long since he’d had uninterrupted sleep. The smell of coffee led him to the kitchen, and it was after he had poured himself a cup when he noticed a carry-on suitcase by the door.

The sight rooted him to the spot, and his heart sank.

Albert was leaving?

Arthur swore under his breath. He should’ve known better, should’ve known that last night had been too good to be true and that there was a catch. Of course Albert was leaving. The photographer belonged in New York, not some crappy small town. He shook his head, disgusted by the rose-tinted glasses he had worn after the ice incident. This wasn’t some romance novel, and there was certainly no such thing as a happy ending.

“Arthur?”

Albert’s voice snapped him out of his mire of thoughts, and he looked over to find Albert shutting the back door behind him. It wasn’t until he forced a smile that he realized how deep his frown had been. “Hey, Albert.”

The photographer nervously rubbed his arm as he glanced at the packed bag by the door. “I have to fly back to New York tonight.”

“I figured as much,” he grunted, his voice rougher than he intended it to be.

“Right,” he drew a deep breath and steeled himself, “I bought two tickets.”

“I’m sure you can refund one. They probably help people who accidentally buy tickets all the time.”

Albert shook his head and let out a huff. “No, Arthur, you’re not following! The other ticket is for _you_.”

Arthur felt his mind come to a grinding halt. “What?”

“That is if you want to join me, of course,”

“You bought _two_ tickets?” He repeated softly.

“Yes,” Albert offered a timid smile, “you could say I took a gamble and bought two in case you wanted to join me. The decision is up to you, but know that I won’t take offense if you say no.” While it would certainly hurt, Albert knew the man had a lot on his plate right now.

“I dunno, Al,” he sighed, “listen, I told Charles I’d help him give his truck’s engine a tune-up. Do you mind if I think it over while I’m gone?”

“Sure, I’d say that’s fair.”

Arthur thanked him, and he grabbed a fresh pair of jeans and a button-up from his bag to change into before heading over to Charles’ house. His head swam with Albert’s invitation as he drove. In his heart, he had no qualms following Albert to New York, but his life wasn’t that simple. The FBI had gotten wind of him, and there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t follow him. To make matters worse, he still didn’t know for sure if anyone was investigating the disappearance of the arms dealer he had killed. Sure, he may have been a felon, but that didn’t mean the guy didn’t have family or friends who would notice his unexpected absence. Arthur drew a deep breath in through his nose.

Perhaps he was overthinking it all. Maybe, for once in his life, he would do what he wanted, and all would go according to plan.

The absurdity of the idea was enough to make him snort.

He pulled up to Charles’ garage, turned off the car, and knocked on its door. It lifted after a brief moment, and Arthur stepped inside to join Charles and his Chevrolet C10 from 1974. Charles waved him over with a hand that was dark with grease as he hit the switch for the garage with the other.

“You just had to get started without me,” Arthur smirked as he eyed what Charles was working on.

“Hey, you said eight o’clock and sharp!” He countered as he elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t you try putting the blame on me, sleeping beauty.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Whatever,”

Charles cocked his head as he regarded him. There was a light in his friend’s eyes that he hadn’t seen in a long time. He looked well rested and more like the Arthur he had become close friends with before Dutch’s plans started regularly turning south. “You look good, did you take some kind of sleeping pill or something?”

Arthur chose his words carefully as he removed a coil to begin cleaning the inside of it. “No, but there _is_ somethin’ you should know.”

“I’m listening,” he replied with a raised eyebrow.

“Albert fell through some ice yesterday,”

“He _what?_ ”

“Don’t worry, he’s alright, but it…shit, the last time I was that scared was when Hosea got shot. I got him out just fine, but that whole damn time I kept thinking about what the hell I would do if I lost him.”

“Like you lost Eliza and Isaac,” Charles added as if he had read his mind.

“Exactly, and it made me realize that I actually,” he drew a deep breath, “well, I actually fancy that city slicker.”

“It’s about time you figured that one out,”

“Excuse me?”

Charles scoffed as he gapped a new sparkplug. “You’ve been making heart eyes at that man like a lovesick fool for a while now. If John were around, I would’ve placed a bet on how long it would take until you saw that.”

“Oh, shut up,” he muttered despite the upward quirk of his lips. “Now I ain’t gonna tell you what happened at the bar Thursday night.”

“You kissed him,”

The blunt comment left Arthur sputtering. “What? How’d you figure that?”

“Come on, Arthur. You aren’t _that_ unpredictable. I’ve known you for three years, now. You get affectionate when you’re drunk.”

He muttered some choice words under his breath as a deep crease formed between his brows, and he focused on the coil in his hands. “He’s leaving today.”

Charles smile dropped some at that. “I’m sorry.”

“He bought two plane tickets, one for me in case I wanted to go with him.”

“And? What have you decided?”

Arthur shook his head. “I haven’t yet.”

Charles dark brown eyes studied him closely. “What’s holding you back?”

“There’s a lot back in New York. Hell, last time I was there I killed a man!”

“Look, if they had linked any evidence to you, I’m sure that FBI agent wouldn’t have hesitated to put you behind bars.”

“I dunno, Charles,”

“What are you afraid of, Arthur? As long as you play it safe and keep your head down, I don’t see why you couldn’t go with Albert.”

Arthur smirked. “So, what I’m hearing is avoid getting shitfaced, right? Isn’t that the word you used?”

“It’s a good thing you learn quick, or else I’d be coming along as a chaperone,”

He snorted. “I think I can manage takin’ care of myself for a few days.”

“It’s not _if_ you can take care of yourself, but more _how_ ,” he paused as he returned the sparkplug to its rightful place, “you need a break from all the madness that’s been hovering over you. Going with Albert will be good for you, just promise me you won’t worry about John or myself while you’re over there. You leave that to me, okay?”

If Arthur’s hands hadn’t been blackened by grease, he would’ve hugged him. He didn’t know how he’d managed to get a friend like Charles, and he was unable to find the right words to express the gratitude that warmed his heart. “Thank you, Charles.”

 “Of course,”

They tended to the classic truck for about an hour or so before starting the engine. It started with ease and purred smoothly. Arthur smiled as he wiped his hands on a towel before clapping Charles on the back.

“There, she oughta run about as smoothly as the day she left the line,”

“Thanks for the help, I didn’t want to push the maintenance off any longer with all the snow we’ve been getting.”

“Understandable,” he said as he flipped the switch for the garage door, “you take care, now.”

“See you, Arthur. Have a safe flight and remember to enjoy yourself for once!”

Arthur acknowledged him with a salute before pulling out of the driveway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was so wonderful to write! Honestly, I'm surprised that it's taken eight chapters to get here but here we are! 
> 
> There'll probably be eleven or twelve chapters in all, so we're nearing the end of this quest. Thanks for sticking around and enjoy!


	9. A Work of Heart

Arthur grunted out a few apologies as he followed Albert through the narrow aisle with one of the photographer’s bags slung over his shoulder as well as his own satchel. While the plane wasn’t packed, it was still full enough to make Arthur feel mildly claustrophobic. Clearly, they weren’t the only ones looking for cheaper plane tickets on a Tuesday night.

When they reached their assigned seats, Arthur squeezed Albert’s bags in the overhead compartment. He then turned to see that Albert was still standing in the aisle.

“You go on in first, Arthur. We have the window and middle seat.” Albert said.

“Don’t you want the window seat so you can take some pictures?”

“No, no, I’d rather not think about high we are and forgo the cliché photo of an airplane’s window, thank you very much,”

Arthur flashed him a crooked grin as he took his seat. “I would’ve never guessed you were afraid of heights!”

“I wasn’t for most of my life. Some friends took me rock climbing with the promise of seeing some bald eagles, and I nearly plummeted to my death.”

He laughed. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“It’s truly a wonder I’ve made it this far in life,” Albert replied with a wide grin as he sat beside him.

Arthur shook his head as he stared out at the runway. He didn’t prefer window seats either, but he also didn’t mind dealing with it if it meant easing Albert’s fears. The view of the Chugach Mountains was nice too, for the time being. They were in Anchorage boarding their second flight that day with one more connecting flight to go. They would be landing in Minneapolis, which had a decent enough airport, before finally flying out to the JFK International Airport. It would be just over a nine-hour flight with their layover, making their ETA eleven o’clock in the morning.

They were only in the air for thirty minutes when Arthur felt something on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked over to see Albert fast asleep with his head pillowed there, and Arthur couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

The transition to their connecting flight was a smooth one, and both of them were happy to find that they had been assigned seats in the middle row. The last stretch of their journey was a speedy one, and before Arthur knew it, they were waiting at the baggage claim. JFK was as busy as he had expected it to be, but the crowds made Arthur’s skin itch regardless. He shifted his weight as his eyes skirted this way and that to survey their surroundings. It wasn’t until Albert took hold of his arm that he realized how tense he was.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“I’m fine, just ain’t too fond of crowds, is all,”

Albert nodded to himself before his attention was pulled elsewhere. "Oh! Look at that beautiful German Shepherd!"

Arthur stiffened as he followed Albert's gaze to the dog he mentioned. Sure enough, there was a cop with a security dog beside him. He swallowed.

"I sorta wish you hadn't mentioned that,"

"Why?"

"Let's just say they ain't so beautiful when they got their teeth in your leg,"

Albert's grip on Arthur's arm tightened. "You've been chased by a K-9 unit before?"

"Yeah, it left one hell of a nasty scar. John and I had just reached the river’s edge and had nearly escaped when it happened. He had to shoot the poor bastard in the leg to get it to let go."

"Wait, John as in the man Agent Ross was looking for?”

Arthur silently cursed himself for the slip. "Yeah, he's like a brother to me.”

“What happened?"

“I was twenty-five, and he was barely fifteen, but he begged and pleaded to come with me on a job. I only let him because I couldn't take much more of his whinin’, but we got into some trouble, and we made a run for it, although we didn't think a small town like that would have a police dog."

"He was _fifteen?_ " Albert paused as he processed what Arthur had told him. “That must’ve been at least ten years ago. Not that it changes anything, but just how long is your criminal record?”

Arthur avoided his searching eyes and scratched the back of his neck. “You don’t want to know.”

“And I take it you still can’t tell me about your pardon?”

“Nope,”

“So, this family of yours, are they—oh, look! I believe those are our bags coming around the corner.”

Arthur breathed out a sigh of relief, thankful for Albert’s keen eye as well as the distraction. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to answer any questions regarding his gang. Not to mention the heavy airport security and countless potential eavesdroppers made the baggage claim area the worst place to have such a conversation.

After collecting their bags, they grabbed a taxi and headed for Albert’s apartment in East Village. While Arthur had never been there before, he quickly discovered that it was a quaint area in the lower end of Manhattan. As he watched the different antique stores and cafes go by, he could see why Albert liked it so much. Other than the dive bars that were peppered throughout the neighborhood, the place suited him. The cab eventually stopped in front of an apartment complex, and Arthur helped Albert carry all his bags inside.

The place that Albert called home was a small apartment. It was longer than it was wide, and the landscape paintings that hung on the wall was the first thing Arthur noticed. Albert had pieces that ranged from Vincent Van Gogh to Thomas Cole. To the left was what appeared to be a sleeping alcove next to a set of closet doors, and along the opposite wall was a kitchenette as well as a few other amenities.

“This is a nice place you’ve got,” Arthur said as he set his bag down by the couch, “I’ve seen some pretty rotten apartments in the city, but you’ve made your flat look real fine.”

“Thank you,” Albert grinned as he set his bags inside the closet. He would leave the unpacking for tomorrow. It was already one in the afternoon, and he wanted to take Arthur to a few places before their jet lag caught up to them. “Have you ever been to the Met?”

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “The what?”

“I’m sorry, the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It’s a beautiful art museum and has some of the world’s finest collections. With the eye you have for art, I’m sure it would be a treat! It’s only thirty minutes away.”

“I’d love to do that with you, Al,” he replied as a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

After grabbing a few things, they left the flat and took the stairs since Albert was only on the fourth floor. Arthur followed him as they walked down the block some before Albert walked around a white Honda Fit and sat behind the wheel. He gave the vehicle a skeptic once-over. It was small, and for a moment, he wondered how Albert was even able to drive the subcompact car with his long legs. He carefully got in, watching his head as he did so, and was pleasantly surprised to find that the car provided a deceptively decent amount of legroom.

Albert drove up Henry Hudson Parkway to The Met Cloisters first, which added nearly thirty minutes to their drive, but Albert was insistent that Arthur had to experience the impressive architecture and enchanting gardens. Although it didn’t matter to Arthur what they did as long as Albert was having a good time.

While the art and architecture were just as stunning as Albert had described, Arthur found it more interesting to watch the photographer. His confidence had grown since they’d left Alaska, which made sense considering New York was Albert’s stomping grounds. He knew Manhattan like the back of his hand, and Arthur was more than happy to follow him. Arthur took a seat on the garden’s wall between two Corinthian columns and withdrew his journal to sketch some of the flowers and surrounding greenery. He added some grasses with a few long strokes before looking up to observe the fountain so he could better capture its likeness. The next time he glanced up, he saw Albert with his camera pointed at him.

His lips quirked up in a grin. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Taking a photo of you,” he hummed, “now turn so your legs are stretched out and lean against the column to your right.”

“Do what now?”

“You heard me!”

Arthur rolled his eyes but followed Albert’s instructions. “Like this?”

“Almost, pull your left leg up and rest your arm on your knee…excellent! Now hold still.”

He kept his pose as Albert studied the photo he took. Judging by the smile on his face, Arthur assumed that the photos had turned out well and rose to his feet.

“Sit back down, please. I’d like to take a shallow focus shot of your journal with the flowers in the background.”

“A what?”

“In other words, sit like you were before with your journal out. You were drawing the flowers, right?”

“Yeah,”

“Can you turn to that page for me?”

Arthur nodded, and after opening to the page, he held the journal in both hands as he rested his forearms on his knees.

“Yes, yes, that’s _perfect!_ My word, Arthur, you are a natural!”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the compliment. Not once in his life did he think he’d end up modeling for a skilled photographer like Albert. “I don’t know about that one.”

“Well _I_ , on the other hand, do. You’re…” He took the photo and paused as he scrunched up his face in thought. “Oh, what’s the word!”

“An ugly bastard?”

Albert pressed a hand against his chest as a deep crease formed between his eyebrows. “Absolutely not! The word I was looking for was handsome!”

Arthur raised his eyebrows at the adjective as he felt his cheeks flush. Albert must’ve noticed his reddening face because the photographer exchanged his frown for a smug grin as he took a step forward.

“In fact, some might say you’re simply ravishing, perhaps even drop-dead gorgeous.”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Arthur grunted. He was certain his face was beet red by now, and he tried to hide it by looking away as he tucked his journal back into his satchel.

“Stunning, dashing, radiant, kind-hearted—”

“Alright, quit it! I get your point!”

Albert laughed and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, which was as vibrant as some of the garden’s flowers. “Come on, let’s finish up here so we can see the Met on Fifth Avenue.”

Manhattan, apparently, wasn’t the only place Albert knew well. When they arrived at the art gallery, Albert grabbed him by the hand and started walking without a second thought. He made his way through the museum with purpose, clearly seeking out something specific in the gallery. Arthur had no choice but to allow himself to be dragged along, although he had no reason to complain.

They took the stairs up to the second floor and walked through a gallery of paintings that predated the nineteenth century and continued through the American Wing before Albert finally stopped. Arthur glanced at him to find genuine excitement written on his face as he stared ahead at the American Impressionist paintings.

“Aren’t they beautiful, Arthur?”

They were, but he was too wrapped up in Albert’s own beauty to respond. The sparkle in his hazel eyes was mesmerizing, and the gentle curve of his features took his breath away. Had Albert been born a century or two earlier, Arthur had no doubt he would’ve been the subject of countless paintings.

They took their time looking through the room before Albert led him through another archway on the right. This time Arthur found the room full of artwork from Homer and Eakins. As Arthur read the placard of one piece, he felt Albert pull his arm to get his attention.

“This one’s called Arcadia,”

“Arcadia?”

“Yes, it’s an image or idea of a perfect life in the countryside,”

“Sorta like the idea you had of Alaska?”

He chuckled to himself. “Or so my presuppositions told me! Little did I know how dangerous my endeavor would be.”

“You did describe yourself as a floating cube,”

“Indeed!” Albert replied. “This period of art is what inspired me to pursue wildlife photography. I came by this gallery when I was in a rut, and now here I am. The name of my blog is even inspired by the idea of Arcadia.”

“You have a blog?”

“I do! It’s called Arcadia for Amateurs.”

“That’s quite fitting,” he smirked.

Albert elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “Oh, come now, surely I’m at _least_ a greenhorn by now!”

Arthur laughed. “Alright, I’ll give you that, but do you really want to call your blog Arcadia for Greenhorns?”

“No, I suppose not,” he mused as he intertwined his fingers with Arthur’s.

He gave Albert’s hand a light squeeze, noticing how the action felt oddly natural as if they’d been holding hands for years.

Albert exhaled a contented sigh and looked around the room before his eyes landed on another painting. “Oh! Can I get one more photo of you, if you don’t mind? That one over there, _Cannon Rock_ , would bring out your eyes beautifully.”

He shook his head but complied regardless. However, Albert ended up taking several more photos instead of just one. It had been on their way back to the entrance and passing through the American Impressionism gallery when Albert had insisted Arthur stand in front of another painting Albert identified as _Surf, Isles of Shoals_.

Albert admired the photo he took as Arthur walked back over to him. “You’re a work of art, Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur scratched his arm as his eyes found a painting to look at instead of saying the dismissive reply on his tongue. No matter how much Albert insisted upon his looks, he found his compliments hard to believe. His comments were just baseless flattery, and the frequency at which he said these things had only increased since Arthur had confessed his feelings. Yet, it was clear that Albert disliked it when Arthur dismissed his vocal adoration. So instead, he merely continued walking as if he’d never heard the compliment.

They were walking down the stairs to the main level when Albert’s leg gave out. Arthur was quick to support him by his forearm as the photographer winced and used the railing to support himself. He studied Albert carefully with narrowed eyes before looking down at his left leg.

“How long were you supposed to use that cane for?”

“I may have been told to use it until this weekend,” Albert replied with a sheepish smile.

“Dammit, Al! And here we’ve been moseyin’ all over while you’ve needed your cane this whole time?”

“I’ve been fine until now, haven’t I? I’m not a porcelain doll.” Albert huffed as he straightened himself.

“Yeah, well you ain’t doin’ yourself any favors either,”

“I may not be, and as soon as we get home, I’ll start using it, okay?”

His response seemed to satisfy Arthur, and they decided to grab a quick dinner at Albert’s favorite restaurant that was back in East Village. It was a quaint hole-in-the-wall place, and they both got a sandwich before taking a seat by a window. Their internal clocks were still on Alaska Standard Time, making their appetites only big enough to handle lunch. Arthur looked up at Albert to ask him about the photos he’d taken when he saw someone approaching them. He automatically tensed, although the lean smiling gentleman was hardly a threat. The stranger adjusted his wide brim hat, and Albert jumped as he took hold of his shoulders.

“Albert! Dude, how are you?”

Albert placed a hand over his racing heart before turning to smile at him. “I’m very well, Lance. It’s good to see you!”

“How was Alaska? Those pictures were incredible!”

“Thank you! It was full of surprises but excellent,” he then gestured to Arthur, “Lance, this is Arthur. Arthur, this is my friend Lance from college. We were roommates for a few years.”

“Pleasure,” Arthur said as he extended a hand to shake Lance’s, though it seemed the man recognized him without Albert’s introduction.

“It’s nice to meet you in person!”

“Sure,” he replied as he glanced at Albert. The implication of Lance’s words wasn’t lost on Arthur, and he had the sneaking suspicion Albert had been posting the photos of him online. “So, you two were roommates?”

“Yeah, we tried dating, but after a few outings we agreed that it wouldn’t work.”

“That was years ago, though,” Albert interjected as he noticed Arthur stiffen.

Lance furrowed his brow as he looked Albert over, then nodded to himself with a knowing grin as he gave Albert a pat on the back. “It was, and I’m glad you made the call to be just friends. Enjoy your dinner, man.”

Albert drew a deep breath and stared at his food before lifting his eyes to gauge Arthur’s reaction. He had become distant and had resumed eating without another word, which only made the photographer’s stomach twist into even more knots. While it crossed his mind that his comment about their history might’ve caught Arthur off guard, Albert was more concerned if he had connected the dots about the pictures he had posted on Instagram. In hindsight, he should’ve asked Arthur for permission first, and he waited for him to bring it up.

Except he never did. Instead, he simply got Albert to talk about the different local shops and restaurants that they should plan on visiting. Albert was more than willing to fill the stiff silence between them, although it never left his mind that Arthur knew his pictures were on social media. The thought caused his chest to tighten, and he hoped he hadn’t broken the man’s trust entirely. It would crush him if he lost Arthur over the stupid mistake, and he wasn’t sure if he would ever forgive himself for it.

Albert expected Arthur to start the conversation once they entered the car, but he said nothing. It was clear, however, that he was deep in thought, and it left Albert on pins and needles as he drove. The silence only aggravated his fears, and he reached forward to turn on the radio.

They couldn’t get to the apartment soon enough. It was a torturous wait for Albert, and when he finally closed the door after them, he couldn’t take the suffocating guilt anymore. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I should’ve asked you for consent before posting those photos of you. I had no right to do that without your say-so.”

Arthur was silent as he thought over his words carefully, his hand absentmindedly stroking his beard as he stood in the middle of the room. It all made sense now how Agent Ross had found him. There was simply no other explanation for it. Sadie and Charles had gone above and beyond to cover all his tracks. Josiah had even removed as many identifying marks of him on the internet as he possibly could. He glanced up at Albert, who looked like a nervous wreck.

He sighed. Arthur didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. It simply wasn’t worth the trouble considering the agent had already come and gone. There was no undoing that and telling Albert that it was his Instagram post that led the FBI right to him was both cruel and pointless.

Instead, he merely took a few steps over to Albert and took hold of his shaking hands. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“And I’m sorry about Lance. I promise there’s nothing between us, we were just—”

“Look, I get it, I’m not worried about that.”

Albert searched his eyes for a moment. “But you had become oddly…reserved, as if it _did_ concern you.”

He drew a deep breath. “It just had me thinkin’ that don’t want to disappoint you, Al.”

“Oh, Arthur,” he smiled as he cupped his face, “that’s the thing about doing life with someone else. You’re going to disappoint each other, and it’s only through communication that it gets worked out. It wasn’t because I was disappointed that Lance and I stopped dating. Our personalities conflicted in a way that wasn’t healthy for a romantic relationship.”

Arthur shook his head as he pulled his hands away from his face. “You don’t understand, I’ve let a lot of people down. Hell, you don’t even know half the things I’ve done, and there’s really no good reason for you to trust me.”

“I do trust you, though. You’ve saved and helped me enough times that I would, without hesitation, trust you with my life.”

“I know, but I ain’t the good man you make me out to be. I ain’t proud of the things I’ve done, but I’m a nasty bit of work, and I doubt you’d still want me after one glance at my rap sheet.”

Albert studied him as he tentatively held his hands. “Try me.”

“What?”

“I said, try me,”

Arthur looked down at the soft hands that were holding his own. He had a choice to make. Either he could sugarcoat the red in his ledger and keep what he had with Albert, or he could give him a glimpse of who he truly was. Perhaps doing the latter would expedite the inevitable. It was only a matter of time before Albert saw through Arthur and witnessed the darkest parts of him. If he had a soul, he believed it was corrupted, and it would break his heart if even a single ounce of that corrosion tainted the smallest part of Albert. Arthur dared to look into his eyes, deciding to lay out who he was on the table. As much as he wanted to keep living the airbrushed life he had with Albert, the photographer deserved to know what he was getting into.

“Al, I’ve taken people’s lives. I’ve lied, thieved, and cheated since I was young, and there was a time when I took pride in that. I’ve gotten into more fights than I can count, and I sure as hell won’t ever be the man that you deserve.”

The photographer took this into consideration, and Arthur waited to hear the words he’d been dreading to hear. That whatever it was between them wouldn’t work. Arthur was convinced he was beyond redemption, and he wouldn’t blame Albert if he wanted to back out now and never look back. His eyes lowered to the ground, and Albert tilted his chin upwards to look him in the eye.

“And yet, you seem to regret all these things. You insist you’re not a good man, but a bad man would most certainly take pride in his transgressions. We’ve all made mistakes, and as much as you hate to hear it, you’re a wonderful man.”

Arthur swallowed as Albert kept a firm grip on his chin. “And you’re greatly deceived, I’m afraid.”

“So I’ve been told,” he chuckled, “but I have a feeling I’m right about this one for once.”

As Albert leaned in, Arthur felt his heart stumble over its own rhythm. They had been drunk the last time they’d kissed, and Arthur was suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that he hadn’t kissed anyone while sober in far too long. The thought of _truly_ kissing Albert for the first time filled his stomach to the brim with butterflies. He felt like a lovesick teenager, and the brush of Albert’s lips against his own was electric. The touch lingered for a moment before Albert parted, their lips only inches apart. Enticed by Albert’s warm breath against his lips, Arthur closed the short distance to steal another tender kiss. He gained confidence as his hand gently grasped the side of the photographer’s face, and he closed his eyes as he felt Albert’s hand move from his chin to the back of his head. The feel of his long fingers running through his hair sent a shiver down Arthur’s spine, and he tentatively captured Albert’s bottom lip between his own before pulling away.

Albert smiled as he smoothed Arthur’s mussed hair. “You’re a far better kisser when you’re sober.”

Arthur snorted. “Thanks,”

“Don’t get me wrong, the kiss at the bar was fine but this,” he exhaled a content sigh as he caressed the side of his face, “this was exceptionally nice. Oh, and Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not so perfect myself. We’re going to let each other down, but you can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Well, as long as you’ll have me, you’re going to be just as stuck with me,” he replied with a grin. “Now, how about you show me those photos you posted, hm? I’d like to see them myself after the whole world’s seen them.”

“Not the whole world! Just a few thousand.”

Arthur cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean a few thousand?”

“You’ll see,” Albert said as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. He walked over to the couch as he opened Instagram and tapped on the first set of photos he’d posted. Arthur took a seat on the couch beside him, and the photographer scooted closer as he handed him his phone.

“Here, this is the one I posted maybe four or so weeks ago.”

Arthur stared at the photo of him chopping wood, and he had to take a double take at the like count. The post had over two thousand likes, and his brow furrowed. He swiped through the other photos before handing the phone back to Albert. “You weren’t kiddin’!”

 “Nope, and this one received even more.” He added as he quickly pulled up another set of photos. Arthur quickly recognized them from their whale watching and their road trip to Hanover.

“Those are amazing, Al! You’re quite the talented shutterbug.”

“Please, I just so happen to have an excellent model who knew all the right scenic places.”

Arthur wrinkled his nose at the comment. “You sell yourself short,”

Albert rolled his eyes as he drafted a new post. “Says the gentleman who was trying to convince me to leave him.”

“I wasn’t—” he sighed, knowing Albert was right, “that’s a fair point.”

He chuckled to himself as he selected a few photos from their trip to the Met but paused and looked up at Arthur. “Is it alright if I post the photos from the gallery?”

Arthur scratched his beard as he thought it over. The FBI had already confronted him, surely no further damage could be done from another post. “I dunno, Al.”

“I completely understand if you’d rather I keep them for myself,”

“Sure, go ahead,” he said, “wait, I thought you took those photos on your camera.”

“I did, but the camera I have can wirelessly transfer the photos I take to my phone.” He replied as he did a few quick touch-ups before posting the pictures he took at both Met locations.

They watched a few television shows for a while until they both agreed to get some sleep to nip their jet lag in the bud. While Albert changed into his sleeping clothes in the alcove, Arthur did the same by the couch. He tossed his flannel and jeans aside onto his duffel bag and took a seat.

"Are you decent?" Albert asked from the alcove.

"I try to be," he called as he arranged a few throw pillows on the couch to make himself comfortable.

Albert rolled his eyes at the cheeky reply and stepped into the living room before watching Arthur for a moment. "What are you doing?"

"Gettin' ready for bed,"

"You're not sleeping on the bed? I promise you it's much more comfortable than that cheap old thing. It may not quite be a queen-sized bed, but it has plenty of room."

Arthur shook his head. "I'm fine, really. I'd rather take it slow between us anyway if you don't mind." He still wasn't convinced Albert realized what he was getting himself into, and he wanted to give them both some time to consider the implications of their relationship.

Or perhaps Arthur was still trying to push Albert away out of habit.

"Oh! Of course, Arthur, whatever you need." He smiled. "Help yourself to whatever is around. Blankets and towels are in the closet if you need them."

Arthur simply nodded. He hadn't expected Albert to be so enthusiastically understanding. If anything, he had been waiting for him to express some form of disappointment. They had, after all, shared a bed before. To anyone else, this was no different, but Arthur wanted to see if Albert was true to his word. Arthur was more than just rough around the edges, and he still had trouble believing the photographer wanted to be romantically involved with him regardless.

“Thanks, Al, g’night,”

“Goodnight, Arthur,”

Sleep didn’t come easily for Arthur. He spent most of the night staring at the ceiling as well as the back of his eyelids. His mind was racing as he replayed his conversation with Albert, and he couldn’t help but think about what life would be like if this wasn’t just a week-long fling. Deep down, he knew what was between them was more than just that. The realization caused his chest to tighten as if a weight had been placed there. If they were going to keep this up, what were they going to do? They lived on opposite ends of the country, and it wasn’t fair to expect Albert to uproot and move just because he had an aversion to cities. Yet underneath all his worries, was a hope that it would all work out.

When he did finally fall asleep, it was fitful and saturated with troubling dreams. They ranged from dreams about Albert to the gang, and he tossed and turned on the couch that was far too narrow for him. He jolted awake as his stomach dropped and he grunted as he hit the laminate wood floor with a hefty thud. Arthur rubbed his head as he swore under his breath. A blinding light shone in his face soon after, and his hand quickly went to cover his eyes.

“Good heavens, are you okay?” Albert asked as held up his phone’s flashlight in his direction.

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,”

Albert turned his flashlight off with a sigh. He wasn’t convinced, but he could tell by Arthur’s tone that he had no intention of talking about it. “Alright, Arthur. If you ever change your mind about sharing the bed, my offer still stands.”

“Thanks,” he said as he picked himself off the floor and lied down on the couch again, this time with his back flush to the back of it.

 

They took it easy for the next few days. Arthur had insisted that Albert needed to rest his leg before they did something that involved a lot of walking, opting to go to the theater one day and to take a carriage ride through Central Park the next. Arthur was surprised that there were carriage rides in the middle of New York City, and Albert was even more surprised that he didn’t know.

“Wait, you have family nearby, and you had no idea that this was a thing?”

Arthur heaved a sigh. “For the hundredth time, no, I didn’t! They haven’t been in the area for long anyway.”

“Where were they before New York?”

“A better question is where haven’t they been,”

“They must be seasoned travelers,”

“You could say that,” Arthur said as he looked up at the vibrant maple trees. It was a brisk fall day for New York, although even the low fifty-degree weather felt more like spring to Arthur compared to Cairn. Albert, however, thought otherwise as he attempted to rub some warmth into his arms beside him. Arthur’s lips quirked upward in a grin as he shrugged off his jacket and handed it to him.

“Here, put this on.”

Albert held the leather jacket in his hands as he looked up at him. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure! I was starting to feel a lil’ too warm anyway.”

Albert couldn’t have hidden his smile even if he tried as he put on Arthur’s jacket. He pulled it close and ducked his head down briefly and pressed the collar against his nose. His eyes closed as he breathed in Arthur’s cologne that mixed all too nicely with the smell of genuine leather, savoring the woody middle notes and top notes of sandalwood that made his heart flutter. If Arthur noticed, he didn’t say anything of it. His jacket was also wonderfully warm, and Albert reveled in the feeling of it. However, there was still a chilling breeze that cut through the air, and the photographer found himself scooting closer to Arthur.

Arthur stiffened as he glanced at Albert, who had his arms wrapped around himself. He swallowed and timidly lifted his arm to bring it around Albert’s shoulders. Arthur watched Albert out of the corner of his eye, prepared to pull his arm away if met with a negative reaction.

Albert looked up at him, and it nearly compelled Arthur to leap out of the carriage. The photographer’s smile, however, was encouraging, and his nerves settled at once. “You are way too tense for a peaceful carriage ride, Arthur.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this,”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not that at all! I think you just need to stop second-guessing yourself.”

Arthur found himself relaxing at that, feeling as if he had been given permission to trust himself. He couldn’t put his finger on why that mattered so much to him, but he was thankful for Albert’s reassurance anyway.

They stopped for dinner somewhere in the Lower East Side. Arthur hadn’t been to many fine dining restaurants, and the place felt far too fancy for someone like him. In his mind, he stood out like a sore thumb, and it wasn’t until he felt Albert’s hand over his that he realized he was fidgeting so much. Although the photographer didn’t say anything about it. He didn’t need to. The knowing look that he exchanged with Arthur conveyed more than enough, and with a deep breath, Arthur forced himself to ignore the unease he felt.

Afterward, they found a place to park near the Brooklyn Bridge. Albert had convinced Arthur to walk the bridge and to watch the sunset with him, and he didn’t have it in him to turn the photographer down even if he wanted to. As they walked, Arthur kept a close eye on Albert. Before they had left the apartment, he had reminded him to bring his cane along, but even with the cane Arthur was concerned about his leg giving out.

They were about halfway across the bridge when they stopped. Albert leaned against the railing as the breeze off the Hudson River toyed with his hair. The sound of the traffic beneath them filled the momentary silence, and Arthur took his place by Albert’s side.

“Did you know that it took fourteen years to build this bridge before it was finally completed in eighteen eighty-three?” He asked.

Arthur let out a low whistle. “Had no idea,”

“Could you imagine what life was like then? Witnessing the dawn of the twentieth century? Life must’ve changed so quickly for all sorts of people.”

“It’s changed quickly for us too. Don’t you remember when you had to _know_ where you were going, and if you didn’t you had to use a map or ask someone for directions?”

“I do,” he grinned, “it makes me very appreciative of the technology we have today.”

“I don’t know, sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to live during the late eighteen-hundreds. Life for them must’ve been so much simpler.”

“Sure, other than the rampant diseases that are now curable, the lack of sanitation, and merciless outlaws, life was a whole lot simpler.” He teased.

Arthur snorted and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Well, it _was_ nice to dream about. Thanks for that.”

“Every century has its own troubles regardless of how simple it seems. Sometimes, I wonder if the same issues from hundreds of years ago have simply adapted to whatever advancements we’ve made. For instance, we’ve found the cure to pneumonia and tuberculosis, but now its cancer, among other diseases, that we’re fighting against. We’ve regulated the food and health industry, but people find new ways to cut corners just to hoard money.” Albert paused as he looked out at the horizon. “Sometimes, I wonder if people just find new ways to do the same thing. Perhaps greed and pride never change, they just…find new faces to wear.”

Arthur smiled as he leaned against the railing beside him, and he couldn’t help but stare at the photographer in awe. “That blog of yours must really be somethin’, Al. You’re too smart for me.”

“Oh please, you don’t honestly expect me to believe that, do you?”

“It’s true,”

“No, it isn’t, and you know that!”

He chuckled to himself. “You sound like someone else I know who’s very dear to me.”

“Well, they must be very wise, whoever they are,”

“He is, I wish you could meet him. The two of you would get along, I think.”

Albert’s eyes flicked over to Arthur, who was now staring at the soft coral sky. He appeared to think of the man quite fondly from the looks of it. The corners of his eyes had wrinkled from his smile, and Albert swore that for a brief moment, Arthur had mentally gone to wherever this man lived.

“What’s he like?” Albert asked.

“Hosea? Well, he’s gentle and quick-witted, but he’s got quite a silver tongue. He’s got a big heart, but he would no doubt raise hell if anyone threatened his family.”

He thought it over for a moment before hooking his arm around Arthur’s. “Like you?”

He laughed. “No, I can only hope to take after a man as inspiring as he is.”

“I think you have, at least to some degree. What’s his relation to you? Friend? Mentor?”

“He’s more like a father to me. I have someone else who’s more of a mentor. They’re both the best men I know, besides you and Charles, of course.”

“I think I’d like to meet both of them someday,” Albert mused.

Arthur didn’t respond as the sun continued its steady descent behind the cityscape. As much as he wanted to introduce him to Hosea and Dutch, Arthur knew that it was integral for Albert’s welfare that he didn’t cross paths with any of the Van der Linde gang. Arthur wasn’t ready to tell him about his past affiliations with the gang either. While the photographer had taken everything that had been thrown at him in stride, Arthur still feared how he would respond. He’d spent over half his life running with the gang, was even Dutch’s right-hand man before he went to Alaska. Even now, despite the distance and time spent apart, Arthur still felt fiercely loyal to his unconventional family, and he knew Albert wouldn’t approve. Arthur didn’t expect him nor any sane person to.

The sky had taken on a lilac hue with the afterglow of dusk when they decided to start making their way back. They were about a block away when Arthur chuckled at a thought that occurred to him.

“So, was that a date?”

“Well,” Albert smiled sheepishly, “I would like to think so.”

“Then I can count this as walking you to your car, right?”

Albert laughed. “We came in the same car!”

“I know, but we only have your car anyway,”

“And?”

Arthur muttered under his breath and let out a huff. “For crying out loud, Al, I’m trying to be a gentleman!”

“I know you are,” he hummed as he took his hand. “You’re just cute when you’re flustered.”

He stopped in his tracks and frowned. “ _Cute?_ ”

The photographer shrugged. “Would you prefer the word endearing instead?”

He rolled his eyes and pulled Albert over to him, causing the man to stumble before catching him against his chest, a playful smirk twisting his lips. Usually, he hated being described as such, but for some reason, he didn’t mind hearing it from Albert.

They were mere inches apart now, and there was a mischievous look in Arthur’s eye. “You really think I’m cute?”

Albert offered him a coy grin. “At times.”

“It’s a good thing I like you, city slicker,”

“Do you now? I’m not so convinced.” Albert teased as he ran his fingers over Arthur’s shirt to trace the outline of his chest.

“Then let me prove it to you,” Arthur said as he gently caressed his jaw. He leaned forward to press his lips against Albert’s and combed his fingers through the photographer’s hair until his hand found its place on the back of his head. Albert smiled as Arthur proceeded to litter his face with tender kisses. His heart felt beyond full, and he shivered as Arthur found his neck and mouthed at a sensitive spot. When he parted, he lingered there for a moment with his head in the crook of his neck and close enough for Albert to feel his breath against his skin.

Albert had expected to feel Arthur’s mouth on his skin again, but as the seconds ticked by, he noted that the pause felt less deliberate and more like a moment of hesitation as if he was conflicted. Feeling compelled to help, he lifted Arthur’s face and gave him one last peck on the lips before taking a half step back. The man looked relieved, and Albert flashed him a smile as he took hold of his hand once again. They weren’t there yet, and as they entered the car, Albert realized he was okay with that. He was content to take their relationship as slow as Arthur needed to, and he was more than willing to help him reaffirm those boundaries.

It was thirty minutes past eight when they returned to Albert’s flat. As Arthur took a seat on the couch, Albert drew one last deep breath of his jacket before handing it to him.

“Thank you for letting me borrow this. It’s surprisingly very warm.”

“Of course,” he took it from his hands and set it on his bag before a smug smile twisted his lips. “You know you can borrow my cologne if you like the smell of it so much, right?”

The photographer blushed instantly. “You saw that?”

“It was kinda hard not to both times,”

Albert scratched at his arm. “It, how do I put this…it wouldn’t quite be the same if _I_ wore it.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow as his smile widened, but he said nothing more. Albert was grateful that he’d dropped the subject, and he handed Arthur the remote to the TV before entering the bathroom to start getting ready for bed.

When he finished, he stepped out to find that Arthur had changed into a plain white shirt and sweatpants and was now lying on his side with a throw pillow tucked under his head. Albert leaned against the doorframe and studied him. Arthur looked peaceful, his sleep seemingly stealing the tension from his body. His gaze shifted to the television that was still on, and Albert wasn’t surprised to find that Arthur had found an old western film playing on one of the channels. He didn’t recognize any of the actors, but he found himself drawn to the poignant scene he had walked in on. From what he gathered, he had caught the end of the movie as one of the characters rode off and left a young boy behind.

“Hosea sat me down and had me watch this years ago. It’s one of his favorites.”

Hearing Arthur’s voice startled Albert, and he placed a hand over his heart as he drew a deep breath. “My goodness, Arthur, I thought you were asleep!”

Arthur chuckled to himself. “Nope, just dozing here and there.”

Albert shook his head as he sat on the armrest. “What movie is this anyway?”

“ _Shane_ , you came in right at the end, unfortunately,”

“And not a happy end, from the looks of it,”

“No, not really, but it’s fitting,”

Albert looked down at Arthur and lightly ran his fingers through his hair. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Arthur smiled at the affectionate touch, and he had to swallow a groan when he felt Albert’s hand stop.

“Goodnight, Arthur, thank you for today. I had a lovely time.”

He opened his eyes as Albert made his way to his alcove. “Likewise, g’night.”

Albert set his phone down on his nightstand after connecting it to its charger and pulled the covers over himself. He smiled to himself as he settled into a comfortable position on his side. The photographer had genuinely enjoyed his time with Arthur. It had truly been enchanting, almost like a dream come true, and Albert couldn’t help but wonder if Arthur felt the same way.

He had nearly drifted off to sleep when he felt the bed shift. The unexpected movement surprised him, and he jolted upright to find Arthur had made himself at home beside him. Albert relaxed with a smile in an instant as he lied back down with his back to Arthur, who had wrapped his arm around his waist, and he scooted himself closer as Arthur’s arm tightened around him.

“Arthur?”

“Hm?”

“You know I don’t mind going as slow as you need to, right?”

“I know, but maybe I’m ready for this,” Arthur pressed his lips against Albert’s neck and smirked when he felt the man shiver. “And Al?”

“Yes?”

Arthur was thankful the photographer’s back was facing him. He found himself at a loss for words and overwhelmed with gratitude for Albert’s patience, and he desperately wished he was better at verbally expressing himself. “Thank you for everything.”

Albert gave his hand a squeeze as he closed his eyes again. “Anything for you, Arthur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another shoutout to Perry (aka toadmaniaboy) for all their lovely help! <3
> 
> Also, this chapter puts this fic above 50k words, which is simply mindblowing to me??? Thank you for your support and lovely comments!! I would've burnt out without them <3 
> 
> Just a heads up: the next chapter may have a mild delay since I'll be out of town for a few days. :) Thanks for sticking around and I hope you enjoyed this fluffy chapter!


	10. High Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy!
> 
> I've adjusted the tags/rating some as this chapter has some implied sexual content. Just wanted to give you all a heads up since that changed! It's towards the end if you'd prefer to skip that sort of thing. <3

Arthur blinked his eyes open to find his arm still wrapped around Albert. A soft smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He wasn't sure how he had gotten so lucky. As he watched the slow rise and fall of Albert's chest, he found himself overwhelmed by his feelings toward the photographer. By now Arthur knew that what he felt wasn't just a fling. The affection and warmth that consumed him went far deeper than that. Pressing his lips against the back of Albert's neck, Arthur realized he wouldn't hesitate to risk his life for him. He breathed in his scent once more before carefully easing himself out of the bed to start his morning with a shower. As the water ran over his skin, he found himself singing an old song Sean had taught him once. He couldn’t recall the song in its entirety, and he hummed the tune when the lyrics escaped him.

It was a relaxing yet lazy start to his day, but Arthur didn’t mind. When he’d dried off and put on some clothes, he stepped out of the bathroom as he dried his damp hair with a hand towel. The smell of fresh coffee greeted him, and he was surprised to find Albert already dressed and working on his laptop.

 “What’s that you’re workin’ on?” Arthur asked as he walked over to him.

“Just a blog post of sorts, I haven’t updated it in a while. You can read it if you’d like.”

As he read, Arthur leaned in close enough to almost be cheek to cheek with Albert. His writing read like poetry. There was a natural rhythm to it and as Arthur read the last line, he couldn’t help but smile.

“And thus, I’ve found myself realizing once again that sometimes the best things in life are the byproducts of happy accidents. Be grateful for every challenging, beautiful, difficult, and lovely moment in our brief lives, for each one is saturated with opportunity. Take risks and be vulnerable, and if anything, do not take presence for granted; we are not here alone, nor are we meant to be alone.” Arthur read aloud. He then nuzzled Albert and pressed his lips against his cheek. “I hope you know how talented you are, Al.”

“Please, it’s nothing,” Albert insisted while beaming at the affectionate touch.

“Nothing my ass,” he muttered.

“I beg to differ, I think your ass is quite nice actually,”

His face turned red at that and as he tried to recover from the unexpected quip, Albert turned his face towards him to give Arthur a quick peck on the lips. “Now look who ain’t playin’ fair!”

“I might not be, but I don’t see you complaining,” Albert smirked.

Arthur rolled his eyes and kissed his temple. “You’ve got me there.”

“Why don’t you pour yourself a cup of coffee before the pot turns off? We can talk over our next endeavor when you have a seat.”

Arthur grabbed himself a cup of coffee and sat down in the chair beside Albert. The photographer turned his laptop to share the screen and pulled up several different Google search tabs of different things they could do. “So, after refreshing my memory of what’s around here, I found a few things. If you’re up for a road trip, we could drive out an hour to the Hudson Highlands where we could go hiking.”

“And where is that exactly?”

“It’s close to West Point in Putnam County.”

“By Lake Carmel?”

Albert shrugged. “Sort of, it’s about a thirty to forty-minute drive between Lake Carmel and the Hudson Highlands.”

Arthur shook his head. It was too close to the gang’s hideout for his liking. “What else do you got?”

“Well,” he took a sip of his coffee as he pulled up the next tab, “there’s a hole-in-the-wall antique shop that’s just over twenty-minutes away. I haven’t been to this one yet.”

“Sure, but you know we don’t _have_ to do anything. I’m fine if you want to take it easy today.”

“Then why don’t we laze about for a while, drive out to the shop, and then grab dinner and a few drinks later? How does that sound?”

“Sounds good to me,”

“Great! I’m going to check my mail. It shouldn’t take long, but feel free to turn on the TV or something.”

Arthur nodded, and as Albert closed the door behind him, he rose to his feet to hang up the towel he’d used to dry his hair. Picking his journal up off his duffle bag, he took a seat on the couch and began sketching their adventures from the last few days. He made a few notes here and there, writing briefly about the art they’d seen and the carriage ride among other things. He had started to journal about their first actual kiss when he heard the door open. Arthur stopped writing mid-sentence and hastily closed his journal as he looked up at Albert who was thumbing through a few envelopes.

“Get anything interesting?” He asked, hoping Albert hadn’t thought twice about how abruptly he had stopped what he was doing.

“Other than a letter from my parents? No, not really.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“I think at this point I feel indifferent,” Albert sighed as he tore it open.

He furrowed his brow and noticed that it was a postcard with turquoise waters and white buildings. “Are they out of town or do they live wherever that’s from?”

Albert smiled to himself. “For as well traveled as you are, I’m surprised you don’t recognize the architecture. But to answer your question, they’re touring Greece right now, which is probably a good thing. Not that it matters, but I don’t think they’d approve of you.”

Arthur tilted his head as he connected the dots. “And what if they _were_ here? Would you intend to keep whatever,” he gestured vaguely to the space between them, “this is a secret?”

“What?” Albert looked genuinely offended. “Of course not! It’s no secret that I’ve already lost their approval, and even if that was a potential consequence, I would consider it a risk worth taking.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief and forced himself to relax. “I’m glad.”

 

The antique shop Albert led him to was the definition of a hole-in-the-wall. Arthur eyed the old brick building with a furrowed brow, unsure if the place was a front for something else. The iron-wrought security bars over the windows had left a black stain underneath from years of weathering and inviting was the last word he’d use to describe the place. He and the gang had done business in buildings like the one before him, and Arthur was thankful he’d brought the knife he packed in his suitcase. Albert, on the other hand, didn’t seem to think twice about the state of the storefront, and Arthur had no choice but to follow him inside.

The musty smell of the old clothes and furniture inside was oppressive. Arthur looked around at the clutter of Knick Knacks and other vintage pieces. A part of him wondered about each object’s journey, and he was eyeing an old Rolleiflex camera when he felt Albert place something on his head. He reached up and held the object in front of him to find that it was a vintage, black gambler hat that looked as if it had come right off a western movie set.

“The hell is this?”

“It’s a hat,” Albert quipped with a cheeky grin.

“Well, I figured that!” He chuckled. “What do you expect me to do with it?”

“You could put it on, for starters,”

Arthur raised an eyebrow but gave in to the simple request by returning it to his head. “So, how do I look?”

“Magnificent,” he replied with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. “It suits you quite well.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Why would I lie about something like that? Now go look at yourself in the mirror and tell me if you would wear that or not.”

Arthur sighed as he begrudgingly complied. He found a nearby mirror and his eyes looked over the hat with an odd leather cord wrapped around it before settling on him. His gaze lingered on the scars on his chin and nose before he looked himself over in full. He frowned as his thoughts strayed from the hat on his head. Even with Albert by his side and the joy that radiated off the gentleman, the persistent sadness behind Arthur’s eyes was there, and he hated it. Hated how old, weathered, and tired he looked.

Albert noticed the shift in his mood, and he gently turned Arthur away from the mirror to face him. “On second thought, let me buy that for you. It’s too fitting to pass up.”

“You don’t have to do that, Al,”

“No, but I would _like_ to,”

A small smile broke through the dark cloud that had come over Arthur, and his eyes lowered to the ground as he handed the hat back to Albert. “Thanks.”

They looked around some more before finally making their way back to the front where the register was. As Albert set the hat on the counter, a gold pocket watch caught his eye in the display case.

“My goodness—Arthur, come look at this beautiful watch!”

Arthur stopped thumbing through a shoebox of cassette tapes to see what the photographer was looking at. It truly was beautiful. The watch nearly shined like new, and the engravings on its case were still clear despite the scratches it had acquired over the years. The woman behind the register smiled and paused ringing up the total.

“Now this is a _true_ antique,” The shopkeeper said as she withdrew the pocket watch from a display case, allowing Albert to have a better look. “It was owned by a notorious outlaw back in the eighteen-nineties.”

Arthur gave her a skeptic look. He’d spun plenty of tales with Hosea and had fooled enough people to know better than to believe a story as vague and outlandish as the one she was telling. However, he glanced over at Albert to find him completely captivated by her words. Arthur rolled his eyes before looking at the woman once again.

“If this fella was so notorious, what’s his name?”

“No one knows, he went by many to keep the law off him and to keep his lover safe,”

His eyes narrowed. “I see.”

“Wow, I can’t imagine living a life like that!” Albert mused as he held the pocket watch in his hands. “The stories this timepiece holds must be incredible, how much is it?”

“Three hundred, but I’ll give you a discount if you pay with cash,”

“Three hundred?” Arthur repeated incredulously. “Ain’t no way that thing’s worth that much!”

The woman scowled at him. “What do you know about antique watches, mister?”

“I know jack shit about them, but I sure as hell know a scam when I see one. It ain’t even tickin’!”

“If you don’t like my prices, then why don’t you leave?”

“Never thought you’d ask,” Arthur scoffed as he took the watch out of Albert’s hand and set it on the counter before leading him by his arm out of the antique shop.

Albert sighed as they walked down the sidewalk. “Good heavens, Arthur, where are your manners?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you _want_ her to swindle your money from ya?”

“No, but you could’ve been more polite about it,”

“I could’ve, but I ain’t got the patience for people like that.”

“Clearly,”

Arthur stopped and turned to face him. “Listen, I use to swindle people myself for a living, and it’s easy to spot a liar when you’ve been one. I wasn’t just gonna stand there and let you get scammed.”

“I appreciate that, although you have to admit, it _was_ a nice timepiece.” He smiled before taking Arthur’s hand in his. “Come on, let’s get some dinner and have a few drinks. I found a spot this morning that might be good.”

They drove another fifteen minutes before Albert found a spot to park. Arthur adjusted his hat as he stepped out and eyed the bar. A sense of unease came over him at the sight of the Irish flag displayed above the entrance. There was no doubt Albert had unintentionally found a pub, and he only hoped the place wasn’t crawling with Colm’s men. He drew a deep breath in through his nose and turned to Albert.

"We're going to a pub?"

"It had good ratings on TripAdvisor," he paused and turned to face him, "is that okay?"

"It's fine," he lied.

Albert studied him for a moment. Arthur was tense, and there was something in his eyes Albert couldn't read. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, lead the way,"

Albert looked him over once more before entering the bar. Arthur followed closely behind as he surveyed their surroundings. It was packed for a Sunday night, and they somehow found a spot to squeeze into at the counter.

"So, Mr. Morgan, what's your poison tonight? Drinks are on me."

Arthur eyed the drinks on the wall before scanning the different beers on tap. "Might as well get a glass of Jameson if this place is legit,"

"I’m sure it is. We're between Windsor Terrace and Park Slope, after all.”

"Great," Arthur muttered.

Albert got the bartender's attention and ordered himself a Bailey's Coffee after ordering Arthur's drink. As they looked over the menu, Arthur lifted his gaze to study the crowd once more. The booths behind them were occupied by people who seemed normal enough. Arthur had almost let his guard down when his eyes settled on three gentlemen seated at a round table near the back of the restaurant. The blood drained from Arthur's face as he recognized the green neckerchief each of them wore, and he quickly turned away from the men and lowered his hat to hide part of his face. Had he known for a fact that the O'Driscolls had made their way to New York, Arthur would've pulled Albert back into the car and found a different bar. Yet as much as he wanted to leave, he knew it was risky. Albert would surely ask a dozen questions, and if they left abruptly, it would be too noticeable.

"Have you decided what you want, Arthur?" Albert asked.

"Just the shepherd's pie for me,"

After giving the waiter his own order, Albert furrowed his brow and lifted Arthur's hat some. "Come now, Arthur, it's not meant to hide your lovely face!"

Arthur reflexively batted his hand away and immediately regretted it as Albert flinched. "Sorry, it's to keep the lights out of my eyes. They're giving me a headache."

"Oh, we can leave if you're not feeling well,"

"I'll be fine. We already ordered, no sense in leaving now."

Albert wasn't convinced, and he ran a hand along Arthur's shoulders before nodding. "If you insist."

As they ate, Arthur tried his best to enjoy his time with the photographer. He glanced over his shoulder at the table. It was involuntary, and as he made eye contact with one of the O'Driscolls, he realized the eyes he’d felt on him wasn’t just his mind playing tricks on him. He swallowed and wondered when the rival gang member had noticed him. The Irishman flashed him a crooked smile as he raised his glass, a gesture that was intended to be more derisive than cordial. Arthur frowned, and his shift in attention didn't go unnoticed by Albert. The photographer eyed Arthur, puzzled by the deep crease between his brows. Something had clearly irked him.

"What are you looking at?" He asked as he started to turn in his chair.

Arthur took hold of his chin to stop him and forced a smile. "Nothing, really, just staring off,"

"Why were you frowning, then?"

"It's just that damn headache,"

Albert gave him a scrutinizing look. "Are you sure?"

"Positive,"

He sighed and rose to his feet. "I'm going to use the restroom and then we'll leave. This pub is doing no favors for your headache."

Arthur watched him go before facing forward once again. He downed the rest of his whiskey and scowled as he sensed the O'Driscolls walk over to him. Two stood by Albert's now empty seat on his left while the other leaned against the counter to his right. Arthur clenched his jaw as he tried to ignore them.

"Say, you're one of Dutch's boys, aren’t you!”

"I don't know what you're talkin' about," Arthur muttered.

"Allow me to refresh your memory then, Mr. Morgan. You see, Dutch is the one who killed three of our men, and _you_ took the blame for it. That was quite noble of you." He said in a low voice. "Where is he?"

Arthur scoffed. "Listen, I don’t know shit. I'm a liability now. They would be better off dead than sayin’ a word to me."

"Then explain to me how we managed to track Dutch this far, and have found one of his best men in the area." He leaned in closer. "That’s not chance, boyo. So pardon me, but I think you're lyin’ through your feckin’ teeth."

Arthur's stare hardened. "Get out of my face."

"Arthur? Who are these people?"

He shifted his gaze to find Albert had returned. The gentleman looked thoroughly confused, and before Arthur could answer, the O'Driscoll answered for him.

"We're just some old friends of his! We go _way_ back. And who might you be?"

"Al—”

"Ain't none of your business!" Arthur snarled. An icy fear had settled in his gut. He was dragging Albert into a mess he didn’t need to be in, and a dangerous one at that.

A smirk twisted the Irishman's lips as he took a step closer to Albert. "You're a handsome fella, aren't you?"

Albert glanced over at Arthur before looking at the stranger again. He wanted to step away, but he was rooted to the spot. A tightness settled in his chest, and he swallowed hard. "Thank you?"

Something dangerous flickered in the O'Driscoll's eyes as he gave Albert a far too intimate once-over look and took another step closer. "How'd you like to come home with me? Let’s ditch this sour-faced bastard and have some real fun."

"I-I think I'll pass," he sputtered as he finally managed to take a step back.

"Come on, I promise I'll show you what a good time looks like," the man smirked as he seized Albert's wrist and pulled him forward. The photographer stumbled into the O'Driscoll's chest, who laughed at how easy it was to maneuver him.

What Arthur felt at that moment was indescribable. An animalistic rage consumed him, and without thinking twice, he pulled the O'Driscoll off Albert and swung. His fist collided with his mouth, and he felt the skin on his knuckles tear as he made contact with his teeth. He grabbed the O'Driscoll's shirt and slugged him once more, leaving him knocked out cold on the ground.

"He said no!" Arthur spat.

The O'Driscoll behind him was on him a second later, pulling him back by his collar and wrapping his arms around his neck in a chokehold. As Arthur struggled, he felt heavy punches from the other against his ribs. The impact of them took his breath away, leaving a sharp pain in their wake. Arthur winced as he leaned into his captor and tried hitting him with his elbow. He felt the O'Driscoll's grip give, but not enough to break free. With his vision starting to tunnel, he went to reach for the knife in his pocket when the bartender and a few other stocky men broke up the fight.

Arthur coughed as he was released, and he stumbled over to Albert's side in an instant. Straightening his shirt, he glared past the people who were between them and at the O'Driscolls who were still standing. A touch to his arm snapped him out of his daze and he looked over to see Albert's worried eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine,"

The bartender checked in with the Irishmen first before finally turning to Arthur. "We have a zero-tolerance policy for fights, so get the fuck out of my bar and don't you ever come back!"

"We were just about to leave. The food wasn't that great anyway!" Arthur muttered as he walked out with Albert.

As Albert settled behind the steering wheel of his car, he watched Arthur carefully ease himself into the passenger seat. The man sat there with his eyes closed, his breathing noticeably shallower than usual. Albert’s lips pressed into a thin worried line as he turned the key in the ignition and pulled onto the road.

“What was that back there?” He finally asked.

Arthur ran a hand over his face and sighed, and a grimace contorted his features from the deep intake of air. The lower left side of his chest was throbbing, and each breath he took was tinged with sharp pain. “That, was my past catching up to me.”

“And you thought the best way to handle that was to knock him out cold?”

He cast a sideways glance at him with a frown. Albert’s tone was merely curious, although he could tell that the photographer didn’t approve of such violence. “Listen, you can’t reason with those men. If we had left without me starting a fight, they would’ve followed us to your car.”

“So, starting the fight was purely strategic?” Albert asked skeptically with a raised eyebrow.

He sighed. “No, but it worked out that way.”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward in a small grin at the confession. “Well, thank you for saving my skin once again. Just, please don’t lie to me like that again, okay? You could’ve told me there were some unkind men who you were trying to avoid.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll do my best not to let it happen again. I guess I was hoping I didn’t have to drag you into that mess,”

“Your best is all I’m looking for, Arthur. What did they want from you, anyway?”

“Information,”

Albert had more questions, but he decided to wait until they were back home where he intended to take care of Arthur first. He had watched the fight in horror, wanting to help but unsure how and frozen in place. The man who had dealt the blows had been the same build as Arthur, and Albert had no doubt that each punch had left its mark.

They took the elevator up to Albert’s flat and once they were inside, he wasted no time in getting Arthur several capsules of ibuprofen and an ice pack for his ribs. After handing him a glass of water, Arthur thanked him and set them aside on the bistro table along with his hat. While he managed to remove his button-up, a grunt escaped him as he tried to take off the tank top underneath.

“Let me help you with that,” Albert said as he took over. Arthur relented as Albert gently helped him pull his arms out before maneuvering the fabric around his head. The photographer’s eyes studied the crimson contusions that had started to bloom below his left pectoral. As painful as it looked, Albert couldn’t help but find himself mesmerized by Arthur’s muscled torso.

“Easy there, city slicker,” Arthur teased despite the blush creeping into his cheeks.

“Sorry,” he replied with a coy smile, “it’s hard not to stare.”

He returned the smile and downed the pills he’d been given.

Albert wrapped the ice pack in a dish towel and gestured to the couch. “Let’s move over there. It’ll be more comfortable for you.”

Arthur nodded and slowly took a seat before the photographer settled next to him. Albert gingerly held the ice pack to the bruised skin and bit his lip as Arthur tensed. Once he had relaxed, Albert rested his head on his shoulder and thought over his next words carefully. Within the last week, he had managed to connect most of the dots regarding Arthur’s past. The man had no doubt been part of some organized crime group of sorts. It would explain the lengthy criminal record, the family who wasn’t really his family, and why the FBI had shown up at his Airbnb.

“Back at the bar, those men were part of a rival gang, weren’t they?”

He felt Arthur stiffen. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, it’s the only thing that makes sense. Why else would they want information? After all, your family is a gang, isn’t it?” It was a shot in the dark, but Albert was sure he’d hit the bullseye.

Arthur swallowed. He knew the photographer would figure it out sooner or later, but that didn’t keep him from feeling like a trapdoor had dropped out from under him, and there was no point in keeping the truth hidden from Albert any longer. “Yeah.”

“Are you still part of that gang?”

“It’s complicated,” he sighed.

Albert lightly ran his hand over his chest as he felt Arthur wince from the deep exhale. “How long have you been with them?”

“At least twenty years,”

There was a lengthy pause, and Arthur braced himself for the worst. He wasn’t a good man, no matter how hard he tried to fool himself, and now Albert knew why he had a long rap sheet. He closed his eyes as he waited for Albert to begin cutting his ties with him. The wait was torturous, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Albert’s lips against his collarbone.

Albert chuckled to himself before pressing a tender kiss to his bare shoulder and another to his neck. However, a hand on his chest pushed him back, and he looked up to meet Arthur’s confused stare.

“Doesn’t that bother you?”

The photographer brought a hand up to the side of his face before briefly meeting Arthur’s lips with his own. “No, because I know you’re more than that.”

“Al,” he started as he brought up his other hand to keep him a little less than an arm’s distance away, “I don’t think you realize what the implications are, or what you’re getting into for that matter. Hell, you almost got hurt tonight because of me.”

 “And I don’t think you realize how much you mean to me,” He countered as he pulled Arthur’s hands away by his wrists and went in for another kiss.

Arthur welcomed the kiss and parted his mouth as the photographer deepened it. His eyes closed as he allowed Albert to explore his mouth, relishing in the feeling of Albert’s tongue sliding against his own. The ice pack fell to the side as Albert straddled his hips. A groan sounded from the back of his throat as Albert’s feather-like touches explored his chest. They were ever careful to avoid the sore spots, mostly tracing the outline of his pectorals and lingering over patches of skin that Albert discovered were more sensitive than others.

He rucked up Albert’s sweater and parted from him to pull the garment over his head. Arthur’s fingers then fumbled with the buttons of the button up underneath, and Albert couldn’t help but chuckle before mouthing at Arthur’s neck. When his shirt had finally been discarded, Arthur paused to shamelessly admire the sight. He smiled and brought a tentative hand up to explore Albert’s chest. The touch earned a shiver from Albert, and he smiled as he leaned forward to press his lips against Arthur’s temple. He then pulled away to look Arthur over. His face was flushed and seeing him with his walls so low did things to Albert that he couldn’t explain. The photographer was certain his arousal was showing by now, but he resisted the urge to fully undress the man beneath him. While he desperately wanted to show Arthur how much he meant to him, it could wait. What was more important to him was making sure Arthur wanted that too.

“You know, if you want to, we can take this to the bed where it would be more comfortable,” Albert suggested. “Of course, I don’t mind this either. You’re a wonderful kisser, but if we’re to continue this I’d have to get a few things from the nightstand’s drawer.”

Arthur smiled, grateful beyond words for the photographer’s kind heart and thoughtfulness. His smile, however, turned into a smirk as his eyes flicked down to drink in the sight of Albert’s tenting jeans before meeting his eyes again. “That’s mighty kind of you, but I ain’t about to stop now.”

Albert felt his face turn red from Arthur’s hungry gaze as he rose to his feet and helped Arthur up. He pulled the photographer in close by his belt for another passionate kiss. Soft hands wandered until they found Arthur’s shoulders and he found himself backpedaling as he was guided to the foot of the bed. Albert’s deft fingers removed both of their belts with ease, and for a moment Arthur wondered how many times the seemingly modest man had done this.

Once both of them had gotten fully undressed, Albert waited patiently as Arthur made himself comfortable. When he’d gotten settled, the photographer joined him on the bed and hovered over him. His hazel eyes lowered to the vibrant contusions that painted the lower left side of his chest and a crease formed between his brows.

“Arthur, we don’t have to do this. You would be better off resting.”

“You’re just _now_ making that suggestion?” He scoffed. “As long as you take it easy, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“ _Yes!_ Now just kiss me already, dammit!”

Albert Laughed and happily obliged him. He showered him with affectionate touches and peppered his skin with kisses, coaxing out as many soft moans and sighs from Arthur as he could. It was music to his ears as he both gave and took pleasure from him. Their grunts and gasps soon became indistinguishable from the other. Albert sucked and nipped at a spot just above Arthur’s collarbone, leaving behind yet another mark on his tanned skin. The photographer quickened his pace upon Arthur’s request and when they finished, they were both left breathless, spent, and fully satisfied.

With a kiss to Arthur’s cheek, Albert left for a brief moment and returned with a damp towel to clean up. He tossed it aside when he was done, figuring he’d pick it up later, and scooted himself close to Arthur’s uninjured side and rested his head on his chest. His lips curved into a smile as he felt Arthur’s arm wrap around him. Albert exhaled a content sigh as he felt Arthur’s fingers toy with his hair. He had nearly fallen asleep when he heard Arthur speak. His voice was just above a whisper, and Albert adored feeling how it vibrated his chest.

“Al?”

“Yes?” Albert asked. He heard Arthur’s heart rate quicken, and there was a brief pause.

“I think I…well I guess I _know_ , shit,” Arthur let out a huff and wondered why the three words he wanted to say were so difficult to get out. It was as if those words were both too much and not enough to express how deeply he cared for Albert.

Albert ran his hand over his broad chest soothingly before looking up at him. “Arthur, you don’t have to say it if you’re not ready to.”

“It ain’t that,” Arthur said before drawing a deep breath that only stole the air from his lungs, and he waited for the pain to subside before he spoke again. “I love you.”

Albert smiled and lifted a hand to stroke Arthur’s short beard before tracing his cheekbone with his thumb. Had he been told he’d have Arthur saying those sweet three words to him all those weeks ago, Albert wouldn’t have believed it, and he couldn’t help but marvel at how far the two of them had come. From biting words to tender caresses, and now this, it felt like a dream. “I love you too.”

It wasn’t long after that the photographer fell asleep. The slow rise and fall of his chest was hard to miss, and Arthur felt as if his heart might burst from the surge of emotion he felt at the sight. He had convinced himself that Albert would reject him if he found out about the gang, and he had never more grateful to be proven wrong. He smiled to himself and closed his eyes before slipping into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me the freakin hardest time at first, so a special thanks to toadmaniaboy for helping me out!
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed the last two fluffy chapters! There's some real angst coming, so stay tuned if you wish and thanks for stopping by!


	11. The Writing on the Wall

Arthur awoke the next morning to find that his bruised ribs were just as sore the next day, although it didn’t come as a surprise. He had expected the pain that greeted him, and a grimace contorted his features as he tried to sit up. He stopped short in his attempt, relaxing back into the mattress to catch his breath as the pain subsided. With a grunt, he lifted his head to examine the bruises that had turned a dark violet and noticed that Albert was no longer by his side. Arthur’s brow furrowed ever so slightly and he glanced at his watch to find that it was late in the morning. He had slept longer than he would have liked, but he reasoned that his body must have needed the rest.

He ran a hand through his mussed hair as he closed his eyes again, recalling the night before. Part of him regretted opening up as much as he had to Albert. It was a mistake he’d made on more than one occasion. One would have thought he would know better by now, and yet here he was lying in the photographer’s bed still completely undressed from their night together. He had been careless, and the realization worried him. In the past, it had been his carelessness that had hurt others, and Arthur had even attributed that to the cause of Eliza and Isaac’s death. Dutch, Hosea, John, and Miss Grimshaw and managed to help him heal from that awful day for the most part, but that didn’t keep him from holding onto the guilt for nearly ten years now.

Arthur sighed. He wasn’t sure how the photographer had managed to worm his way through his defenses so easily. There had only been a handful of both men and women who had ever caught his eye, and he’d only really pursued Mary. Although, even that had gone up in smoke, and after that, he’d sworn he was through when it came to romantic endeavors.

And then there was Albert, with his gracious heart and irresistible charm.

He furrowed his brow and ran a hand over his face, his heart racing at just the thought of him.

What was he getting himself into? Or perhaps, a better question was what  _ had  _ he gotten himself into?

With a grunt, Arthur carefully eased himself into an upright position and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. As he dressed his bottom half, he could hear the TV playing in the other room. Albert was watching a comedy from the sounds of it, and Arthur stepped out and watched the screen for a moment before going over to his duffle bag to search for a shirt to wear.

“Good morning, Arthur,” Albert beamed from behind his laptop.

“Mornin’,"

Albert's brow furrowed as his eyes landed on the dark contusions that painted his left side. They looked painful, and he scratched the back of his neck knowing some of the blame rested on his shoulders. "Do your ribs feel any better?"

"Not really, but I've had worse and some pain meds should do the trick," Arthur said before he paused rummaging through his bag. "Say, have you seen my dark green flannel?”

“Can’t say that I have,”

Arthur furrowed his brow as he searched his bag for a third time before settling for his denim shirt instead. With his sore ribs, he decided to forgo an undershirt, and as he shrugged on the button up, he squinted at the shirt Albert was wearing. It fitted him looser than most of the shirts he usually wore, and Arthur couldn’t help but recognize the incredibly familiar olive-green pattern.

“You little thievin’ liar,” he smirked.

Albert glanced up from his laptop and feigned an innocent look. “What?”

“You stole my flannel!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied, although his wide grin suggested otherwise.

Arthur chuckled as he finished buttoning up his shirt. “You know what? Keep it, it looks much better on you.”

“Wait, really?”

“Sure, it brings out your eyes,”

 “Thanks,” Albert said as he flashed him a smile. His eyes then lowered ever so slightly to Arthur's neck, and a flush crept into his cheeks as he bashfully looked away. “You might want to wear a scarf today, Arthur.”

He tilted his head. “Why?”

“Just…take a look in the mirror, and you’ll see,”

Arthur furrowed his brow but stepped into the bathroom regardless and immediately recognized what the photographer was talking about. He lifted his fingers to trace the light, colorful bruises that marked his neck. While the collar of his shirt hid most of them, there were still a few that rested just above where his shirt ended. He tried popping his collar to see how it looked and immediately flipped it back with a disgusted grunt. The popped collar was undeniably worse than leaving the hickeys uncovered, and as Arthur stared at his reflection for another moment, he was thankful that he had nowhere he had to be. The marks would fade in no time, but until then he decided he wasn’t going to worry too much about who saw the love marks Albert had left behind.

He met his own gaze in the mirror and paused. The face that stared back at him was lighter than he was used to, and his brow furrowed in thought. His time with Albert had been wonderful, but a part of Arthur knew that his little getaway to New York couldn’t last forever. Nothing good in his life ever did, and his eyes dropped to the sink at the thought. Arthur drew a deep breath and dared to meet his own eyes again. 

“What are you doing Arthur?” He whispered to himself. “When will it get through that thick skull of yours that something this nice ain’t somethin’ you can have?”

He heaved a sigh that caused the pain in his side to flare up. The painful reminder of his injury helped derail the negative train of thought, and he decided to wash his face before brushing his teeth. After using his hand to smooth his hair, he joined Albert on the couch.

“Sorry about the marks,” Albert said. “I suppose I got a little carried away.”

“Don’t worry about it, Al. It ain’t quite somethin’ I’d show off, but I don’t think I mind them.” Arthur mused.

He seemed to relax at that, although his cheeks turned a shade of pink.

While the TV show seemed amusing, Arthur found himself more interested in what the photographer was working on. While it wasn’t the first time he’d seen someone type, Arthur was still amazed by the speed at which Albert’s fingers flew across the keys as he responded to what appeared to be emails from potential clients.

“How the hell do you do that?”

Albert paused his typing to look over at him. “Do what?”

“Your typing! You ain’t even lookin’ at the keys!”

His brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, I’m not following.”

Arthur let out a huff. “You type so damn fast; how do you know where everything is?”

It occurred to Albert that, given Arthur’s past, he had, Albert assumed, never had the chance to learn how to type properly. The theory made sense, considering what Arthur had told him about moving around and skipping school. Of course, he didn’t want to make such a bold assumption, so instead, he passed his laptop over to Arthur after opening a new window.

“Humor me for a moment and type ‘things to do in New York’ in the search bar.” 

Arthur raised an eyebrow at the request but brought his hands up to the keys anyway and squinted at the screen. Sure enough, the man pecked at each, individual key and between each letter was a long pause as he searched for them. Albert scratched his head as he tried his best to wait patiently. It was painful watching him type, and judging by Arthur’s hard squint, the man also needed a pair of reading glasses.

“Have you ever seen an eye doctor before?”

“What for?” Arthur asked. The money, or time, for such a thing had never been available to him, and running with the gang meant staying low and avoiding places that required personal information. 

Albert drew a deep breath, realizing he was opening up a can of worms. “Have you been to  _ any  _ kind of doctor?”

He scoffed. It was a bold question and had it been anyone else, Arthur would’ve taken offense to it. “Of course I have! I just ain’t had the privilege to see an eye doctor.”

“Here,” Albert said as he handed him a pair of generic readers he kept on an end table, “try these.”

Arthur scowled but decided to try them on anyway. It was difficult for Albert to keep from smiling as the man beside him took a double-take at the computer screen. His brow furrowed before he looked over at the photographer.

“Damn, I had no idea my eyesight was shit,”

“I wouldn’t say that! You’re most likely just farsighted. It’s quite normal.”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth quirked upward in a grin. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“You’re quite handsome with those on,”

“So what does that make me without them?”

“Well, of course you’re just as handsome without them! I didn’t mean to imply anything of the contrary.” Albert quickly explained.

He laughed and handed him back his laptop. “I’m just teasin’ you, Al! I understood what you meant!”

“Don’t do that!” He huffed as he gave Arthur’s arm a playful smack.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist,”

Albert rolled his eyes and resumed what he had been working on.

Arthur watched him for another moment before he stared at his hands and fidgeted with his watch. There was a question that had been burning in his mind for several days now. It was one that he’d been too afraid to ask up until now, and it was certainly one that needed to be answered. 

Arthur drew a deep breath before he finally spoke. “So, what is this thing between us, anyway?”

Albert instantly stopped what he was doing and looked up at him. He could have sworn his intentions had been clear, and it took him a moment to realize he had heard Arthur correctly. “What do you mean?”

He furrowed his brow, eyes still lowered and unsure if he could look Albert in the eye. “I mean, what are we doing here? New York is your home, Al, and while I'd love to stay with you, I ain't too sure if that's a good idea. I guess I’m just worried that whatever this is between you and me just ain’t realistic.”

“But it  _ is  _ real, isn’t it?” He tentatively asked as he studied Arthur. Since falling through the ice, there hadn’t been a second where he doubted what he felt for Arthur, and hearing the man express doubts regarding the love they’d confessed the night before made his blood run cold. As Albert waited for his response, he couldn’t help but think he’d convinced Arthur into doing something he wasn’t ready for, and the thought alone made him sick to his stomach.

“I…shit, I dunno,” Arthur sighed, “I  _ want _ to say it is, but I guess I’m afraid somethin’ will happen to you. Or that you might realize how bad of an idea this whole thing is.”

Albert reached for his hand and gave it a light squeeze. In that moment, he had no doubt Arthur’s thoughts had been lingering on the tragic things of his past, and as much as Albert wanted to quiet his fears, he also wanted to be sensitive to them. He didn’t know what it was like to lose someone, but he was determined to support Arthur as best as he could regardless.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,”

Arthur finally lifted his eyes to Albert, a deep crease between his brows. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, and I hope you know I’d rather take that risk than lose what we have. As long as you want this too, there’s nothing that can stand between us. Not our families nor the past.”

As conflicted as Arthur felt, he did want it too, wanted the safety and warmth that he felt around Albert, wanted to be able to take part in the photographer’s life and to share his future adventures. Yet the unexpected swell of emotions within him rendered him speechless, and all he could do was lean forward and kiss Albert.

Albert cupped his face, any fears he previously had melting away as their lips met. The assurance he was looking for didn’t need any words, as their kiss and the glassy look in Arthur’s eyes when he pulled away spoke volumes. The reading glasses Arthur still wore had become crooked and had slid down his nose. Albert chuckled to himself before adjusting them and gave his forehead a quick peck.

“On an unrelated note, you’re more than welcome to read one of my books with those readers if you’d like. I’m sure the difference is like night and day.”

Arthur took him up on his offer and rose to his feet before making his way over to a bookcase Albert had below the windowsill. The reading glasses made more of a difference than he cared to admit, and he decided that he might as well take advantage of the discovery. He scanned the titles until one caught his eye. Arthur removed the book from the shelf and held it up.

“I didn’t realize they made a book out of this movie,”

Albert looked up from the computer screen to find that out of all the books he owned, Arthur had picked out  _ True Grit,  _ and he snorted in amusement. “Oh Arthur, my dear, the book came first.”

“It did?”

“Yes, but only a year before the original movie, believe it or not!”

Arthur looked over the cover once more before taking it over to the couch and making himself comfortable. He pushed the readers higher and opened the book. It had been too long since he’d last read for pleasure, and it occurred to him that perhaps the lack of desire to read was due to his eyesight more than anything else. Arthur smiled to himself as Albert leaned against his side, and he rested his arm on the back of the couch so he could toy with the photographer’s hair as he read.

Charles parked his truck in Arthur’s driveway and stepped out into the bitter cold, his breath forming large clouds that dissipated as quickly as they appeared. It had finally stopped snowing for the first time in a few days, and he trudged through the fresh powdery snow to check his friend’s mailbox. He pulled out the mail and found only a handful of envelopes. From a glance, most of it appeared to be the usual junk mail, all except for one. It was the thickness of the envelope that made it stand out from the others. Charles furrowed his brow and looked it over, a priority mail label catching his eye as he examined the return address. It was from Dutch, and his eyes narrowed. There was something that didn’t sit right in his gut as he stared at the cardboard envelope, and the fresh chill that went through him wasn’t from the frigid air.

After closing the mailbox, he made his way into Arthur’s house. Charles closed the door behind him and set the mail on the kitchen counter. He had told Arthur he’d look after his house while he was gone, and after making sure everything was in its proper place, he returned to the mail he’d set down and drew a deep breath as he stared at the envelope from Dutch.

His fingers tapped the counter. The odds that it contained good news was slim to none. Dutch rarely paid for express delivery, and Charles doubted that the decision had a good reason backing it. He sighed as he weighed his options. Arthur had given him permission to open and read anything that came in the mail while he was away, but Charles wasn’t sure if he even wanted to know what was inside. Ever since Dutch had thrown Arthur and John under the bus, Charles had viewed him differently, and he wasn’t sure if the man could be trusted. Arthur, however, didn’t see it like that. No matter how much Charles had told him otherwise, Arthur was convinced that Dutch had the best intentions, that the gang leader had made uncharacteristic decisions for the sake of Hosea’s wellbeing.

Charles sighed as he concluded that while  _ he  _ couldn’t care less about what Dutch had to say, Arthur did, and he eventually tore open the perforated seal and removed the letter. However, as his eyes scanned the cursive writing, he felt his heart sink.

He checked his watch and quickly calculated the time difference before pulling out his phone from his pocket. As much as he had wanted Arthur to avoid thinking about the Van der Linde gang, the news he’d stumbled upon couldn’t wait. He found Albert’s cell in his list of recent calls and dialed his number.

"Thank you for dinner, Arthur. That place was lovely! You picked an excellent restaurant." Albert said as he unlocked his apartment door.

Arthur leaned in close behind him, nuzzling his neck as he paused to breathe in the scent of his shirt on Albert and noting how it blended nicely with the photographer's cologne. "Anything for you."

Albert felt a shiver run down his spine from the sensation of Arthur's breath against his ear. He wasn't sure what had gotten into Arthur. The man had become oddly playful and flirtatious over the course of the evening, and while he didn't mind, it still struck him as odd. Just earlier today, Arthur had questioned if their relationship was realistic, and now the man had pressed himself against Albert’s back and was nuzzling his neck.

"How many drinks did you have tonight?" He asked as they stepped inside.

"Just the one," he cocked an eyebrow at him as he went to the kitchen to take some more ibuprofen. "Why? I can be affectionate  _ and _ sober, you know."

"That's not what I meant," Albert replied. "I was just curious why you seem a little more...flirty tonight. Even during dinner, you kept putting your hand a  _ little _ too high on my leg."

"I didn't hear you complainin' about it then.” He smirked. “Besides, I would've stopped if you asked me to."

Albert sighed and offered a sheepish smile as he walked over to remove the scarf from around his neck. "My apologies, Arthur, my words seem to keep failing me tonight. I meant a little too high for your usual displays of affection."

He shrugged. "Maybe I'm just...happy, Al. This whole trip’s been like a dream. For the first time in a long while, I finally have somethin' good that ain't tied to the gang. And maybe I'm finally accepting that you actually don’t mind me stickin’ around."

"Oh, Arthur," he reached up to hold his face in his hands, "of course I don’t mind! I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Arthur found himself leaning into the touch. "And that blows my mind. You know what I've done, and that doesn't seem to bother you."

"As long as you're trying to put the past behind you, I don't have a problem with who you were. After all, everyone has a past."

Arthur smiled, and Albert felt his heart skip as it lit up his blue eyes.

They agreed to watch some TV before bed, and as they got settled on the couch, Arthur realized that while he recognized the show from that morning, he didn’t know what it was called.

“What show is this, anyway?” He asked as he rested an arm around Albert’s shoulders.

“ _ Brooklyn Nine-Nine _ , it’s a comedy crime show,” he replied.

He’d never seen  _ Brooklyn Nine-Nine  _ before, but he found it funnier than he expected it to be. As the next episode started, Arthur leaned into Albert and rested his head against the crook of his neck. His hair brushed against Albert’s skin, and the sensation made the photographer shiver. A mischievous smirk twisted Arthur’s lips as he lifted his head and blew some air on the ticklish spot.

Albert laughed as he tried swatting him away. "Come on, Arthur, that tickles!"

"I know," he quipped as he dodged his hand. Arthur leaned back in, this time brushing his beard against his neck before pressing his lips against the sensitive patch of skin.

Albert's laughter continued as he tried pushing Arthur away by his shoulders. However, even with his bruised ribs, the man was about as moveable as a stone wall, and the more he struggled, the more Arthur pressed in on him.

As Albert attempted to get a better angle to hold off Arthur’s attack, he slipped and wound up lying on his back. Arthur didn't waste any time as he took advantage of the situation, and he straddled Albert as he used his weight to pin him. The photographer squirmed underneath him as Arthur began exploiting his other ticklish spots.

"Arthur, stop!" He panted between bits of laughter. " _ Please! _ "

Arthur relented and chuckled to himself as Albert caught his breath, his chest heaving from the onslaught. He brushed a dark lock of hair out of the photographer's face as he regarded him with a look of endearment. Albert was more than he had ever dared to hope for in a romantic partner. It was a dream come true so sweet that often had Arthur second-guessing how long it would last. Every single one of his relationships had come to a grinding halt one way or another. There was a part of him that wondered when this one would end too, but Arthur knew that now wasn’t the time for that kind of thinking. If he gave those thoughts any amount of weight, it would no doubt pull him into a melancholic mood that would, in his mind, ruin the evening. Instead, he traced Albert’s cheekbone with his thumb.

"How did I get so lucky?" He mused quietly.

Albert smiled from ear to ear as he reached up and gently pulled Arthur down halfway by his shirt for a kiss, careful to avoid aggravating his healing injury. He smiled to himself as he cupped Albert's face, caressing his soft beard with his thumbs. A shiver went down his spine as he felt Albert run a hand through his hair. Arthur deepened the kiss as they explored the other's mouth with a tenderness that left him wishing he never had to come up for air.

Arthur had ducked his head down to kiss Albert's neck again when the photographer’s phone rang. A frustrated groan escaped him as he felt Albert shift his weight underneath him to retrieve it from his back pocket. As Albert stared at the screen, Arthur pulled his head out of the crook of his neck to grab his wrist.

"Let it ring,"

Albert furrowed his brow. “But it's Charles."

"And Charles told me to enjoy myself," he countered as he took the phone out of his hand and placed it on the coffee table.

Despite the flush returning to his cheeks, Albert wasn't convinced, but with Arthur's mouth on his neck again, it was easy to forget about the missed call. Yet as Arthur's hands started to wander, his phone rang again. The man muttered under his breath as Albert checked the caller ID to find that it was Charles calling again. His eyes shifted from the phone to Arthur and back again before he finally answered. As much as he wanted to let Arthur have his way, Albert figured that whatever Charles wanted to talk to him about had to be important for him to call twice in a row.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Albert, I need to speak to Arthur,"

His voice was unusually tight, lacking its usual calming resonance, and Albert passed the phone along without question.

Arthur sighed and brought it up to his ear. "Yes?"

Albert couldn't quite make out what Charles was saying, but whatever it was made Arthur's brow furrow and his body stiffen. He got off Albert and walked over to the window.

"And what did it say?"

The photographer sat up and smoothed his shirt as he watched Arthur. The longer Arthur listened, the more his frown melted away into a blank expression.

As the seconds dragged on, the only noise that filled the room came from the television. It was as if Arthur had become a statue. He didn't speak or move, and it felt like an eternity before he did.

"Yeah, I'm still here...alright...let me know when you land…yes, I  _ know,  _ just bring the letter with you, okay? Thanks, Charles."

Even from across the room, Albert could sense the deep shift in Arthur's emotions. He had brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose as he leaned against the wall. His breathing had also changed as if the air in the room had become difficult to breathe.

Albert rose to his feet and crossed the room in a few strides. "Arthur, are you alright? What did he say?"

He shook his head, and Albert gently pulled his hand away from his face to see his eyes. They were deeply troubled and pained as if whatever Charles said had flipped his world upside down. Albert's heart twisted in his chest, and he brought a hand up to the side of his face. "What's wrong, love?"

"I," he started and then drew a sharp and shaky breath of air before handing him back his cellphone, "I'm going for a walk. I need some air."

Albert watched him grab his jacket and a scarf before leaving the apartment with great haste. Something was wrong. Not once had he seen Arthur so distraught before. He had caught glimpses of what the man looked when afraid or angry, but this was something entirely different. The exchange had happened so quickly that Albert wasn’t even sure where to begin identifying it. A vibration in Albert’s hand preceding a text alert pulled his attention away from the door. It was Charles, and he immediately opened the text.

_ Arthur may need some space, as you probably already know, but please keep an eye on him. He’ll tell you what’s going on when he’s ready. _

__

He ran a hand through his hair as he reread the message before glancing up at the door. The blood drained from his face, but he quickly quieted his fears by reminding himself that Arthur only needed some time to himself. He would be fine. Albert drew a deep breath and sent a reply letting Charles know that Arthur was taking a walk and that he would be watching him carefully once he returned.

In the meantime, Albert decided to distract himself by taking a shower. He stood underneath the showerhead and tried his best to let the flowing water wash away his worries. His attempt, however, was unsuccessful. There was no telling where Arthur had gone, nor how long he would be. Albert stood underneath the showerhead for close to thirty minutes before he turned off the water, dried himself, and got dressed. He exited the bathroom as he straightened his knit hooded sweater and found Arthur sitting at the small bistro table beside the kitchenette.

In his hand was a pint of whiskey that was half empty and his eyes stared hard at nothing in particular. As he took a swig of the liquor, Albert found himself both relieved and concerned. Arthur had returned safely, but the whiskey bottle and sorrowful look in his eye worried him. He looked deeply grieved, and Albert walked over to him as if he were approaching a skittish animal before tentatively laying a hand on his shoulder. When Arthur didn’t pull away, he rested his other hand on the opposite shoulder and began massaging the tense muscles. Arthur leaned into the touch and closed his eyes.

Albert pressed his lips to the soft hair on top of his head before speaking. “Where’d you get the whiskey?”

“Bought it,”

He mentally kicked himself for the silly question and swallowed. “Would you rather be left alone?”

“No,” his voice was barely louder than a whisper as he immediately reached up to firmly grasp one of Albert’s hands, “anything but that right now.”

He nodded and pulled the other chair closer to Arthur before taking a seat. Albert eyed the whiskey once more before his eyes flicked up to Arthur’s. “Are you planning on drinking that whole bottle?”

He gave a half-hearted shrug. “I was fixin’ to.”

Albert’s brow furrowed at that, but he decided that now wasn’t the best time to lecture the man on limiting his liquor. “What happened?”

He heaved a sigh, winced, and downed some more whiskey. “You remember Hosea? The man I told you about?”

Albert reluctantly nodded, knowing that whatever Arthur had to say next wasn’t good.

“He…he had a stroke and is in the ICU. It’s bad, Al. Doctors’ are sayin’ there’s no hope of recovery.”

His mouth fell open as he took Arthur’s hand in his. “Good heavens, Arthur, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”

“Me too,” a dark look then settled in his eyes, “I tried tellin’ Dutch he wasn’t well, that he was gettin’ worse. Between the stress and the illness...and all he was concerned about was my damn loyalty! He lied to me and told me to have some faith when I was right all along!” He downed some more liquor and shook his head. “Now look where we are, preppin’ for a fuckin’ funeral that’s one too many years too early.”

Albert gave his hand a gentle squeeze. He wasn’t sure who Dutch was, but he knew that the small detail wasn’t important at that moment. “How did Charles find out?”

“He found a letter that detailed everything, and he’ll be flying in tomorrow.”

“Is he bringing a suit for you to wear? In case…” Albert’s voice trailed off, and he sorely wished he was better at talking about these things.

“I don’t own any,”

“If you’re feeling up to it, maybe we could take care of that together if you’d like. You could probably fit into a pair of my trousers, and you can borrow a tie.”

"I appreciate it, but if it does come to that, I won't really need a suit anyway. We ain't that fancy." Arthur said before taking another swig, and as he set the nearly empty bottle down Albert hesitantly corked it to cut him off. The action made Arthur’s nose wrinkle, but he said nothing of it and reasoned that finishing the bottle wasn’t worth aggravating his inevitable hangover.

They were both silent for a long while as Arthur continued to process the news. Even with three-fourths of a pint of whiskey in his system, Arthur seemed stone-cold sober, and it was unsettling how listless he looked. This Arthur was nothing like the drunk Arthur at the bar in Cairn, and Albert wasn’t sure what to do with that. He stared at Arthur’s hand in his as he ran small circles over it with his thumb and searched for the right thing to say, yet he found nothing. All words of comfort seemed to escape him despite wanting to provide Arthur emotional support. Although, he figured it was better to stay silent than to scrounge and piece together a few meaningless words into a coherent sentence.

Arthur finally broke the silence with a shuddering breath. “He has to make it, he’s too stubborn to go like that.”

“It’s certainly possible,”

He lifted a hand to massage the bridge of his nose. “I’ve taken him for granted all these years, after everything he’s done for me, and there’s  _ nothin’ _ that can undo that.”

“Maybe not, but he knows you love him. With the way you gushed about him to me, I have no doubt Hosea knows he has your respect.”

Arthur sighed. “Then why do I feel so guilty?”

“Because you’re blaming yourself for seeing a need that wasn't met despite you insisting otherwise. What’s happening is awful, and the grief you feel is legitimate, but it’s not your fault nothing was done for him. Don’t put that guilt on yourself. It has no place on your shoulders.”

His breath hitched as his lips pressed into a thin anguished line. The photographer had hit the nail on the head.

Albert’s brow furrowed in concern and he scooted his chair closer before guiding Arthur’s head to rest against his shoulder. He rubbed his back soothingly as Arthur fisted his hands in his shirt and pulled him closer. Albert remained silent and opted for simply wrapping his arms around him as he idly ran his long fingers through his hair.

Albert wasn’t sure how long he sat there with Arthur in his arms as he grieved, although the ache in his back gave him some idea. He reluctantly pulled away and held Arthur’s face in his hands. “You need to drink something that isn’t liquor or else you’re going to have one of the world’s worst hangovers. I’ll get you some water while you get ready for bed.”

Arthur only nodded, too tired and intoxicated to argue with him and went over to his duffle bag to change into a pair of sweatpants. When he turned to Albert, he found him with a glass of water ready for him. He thanked him, and the photographer managed to convince him to down two glasses before ensuring Arthur got into bed safely. Albert joined him after changing into his sleeping clothes and wrapped an arm around Arthur. With a grimace, Arthur repositioned Albert’s arm so that it was resting above his bruises. Albert was quick to breathe out an apology, and Arthur responded by pressing himself closer to the photographer as he took hold of his hand. 

As Arthur closed his eyes, he found himself wishing he could wake up from whatever nightmare he’d found himself in. All that had transpired in the last two hours didn’t feel real to him, like some cruel joke had been played. Except, deep down he knew there was no punch line. This was very much real, and he only hoped Hosea would recover despite what the doctors said. After all, they didn’t know the scope of the old man’s grit. He had survived many things, surely they would be able to add stroke to the growing list?

Arthur opened his eyes and stared at the clock on the nightstand. He heaved a sigh and jumped when he felt long fingers card through his hair. After the initial surprise, he closed his eyes once again and relaxed as Albert continued running his fingers through the sandy strands.

The sensation was relaxing, but Arthur could tell that Albert was stubbornly fighting against sleep. Every once in a while, the languid movement of his hand would still before continuing once again. Arthur had no doubt that the photographer was resisting sleep for his sake, and the thought both warmed and pained him. Arthur slowed his breathing, pretending to fall asleep so Albert could get the rest he needed. When his soft snoring had reached Arthur’s ears, he carefully eased himself out of bed and made his way to the couch.

Using the soft, dim light of a lamp on the end table, Arthur spent most of the night journaling the racing thoughts that clouded his mind. When his hand ached from writing all that he possibly could, he set the journal aside to continue reading  _ True Grit _ . As exhausted as he was, he didn’t want to sleep. Yet as the night sky started to dwindle with the debut of the coming light of dawn, Arthur gave in to his heavy eyelids and allowed himself to doze off.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! 
> 
> Thank you for your patience with the delayed update! <3 I wanted to take another week to thoroughly revise this chapter. 
> 
> Man, I truly wrestled with this chapter. I wasn't sure if I wanted to take it down this road, but I had to think of something to replace the TB that was Arthur's turning point in the game. I'm not a big fan of using plot points just for shock value, and I hope this chapter didn't come across that way!
> 
> I'll also be out of town again next week as one last summer hoorah, so the next update might be delayed as well! Work has also started to gear up again, so here's hoping the next chapter will be on time!


	12. The Parting Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, all!
> 
> I do want to warn that a good chunk of this chapter does occur in a hospital room. As someone who has experienced seeing loved ones in the ICU, please feel free to message me on tumblr if you want to make sure this chapter is safe for you. My url is snikt-snack :)

Arthur swallowed a few capsules of ibuprofen for the headache his hangover had left him and stared at his packed duffle bag on the floor.  It was unlikely that he would need everything in his bag for what he hoped would be a short trip. Yet, Arthur knew he’d feel guilty leaving any of his things at Albert’s while he was away. The photographer didn't need his belongings cluttering his apartment, and while he didn’t know when Charles would be flying in, he knew they would be driving to the hospital after Arthur picked him up. There was no sense in driving an hour back to Albert’s apartment when they could leave straight from the airport. It would be an hour wasted, and Arthur feared that Hosea didn't have that kind of time to spare. 

He ran a hand over his face and glanced at the clock on the cable box. With only getting maybe an hour’s worth of sleep, it felt much later than eight in the morning, and the pounding of his head had made the hours drag on. Unable to sit for much longer, Arthur rose to his feet and quietly went over to the nightstand where Albert usually charged his phone. His eyes flitted to the photographer as he picked up the device. He was still sound asleep, and some of his dark locks had fallen in his face as others twisted this way and that. Arthur felt his heart twist in his chest as he watched the gentleman continue his peaceful sleep. While he wanted to ask Albert if he wanted to join him and Charles, he knew better than to drag Albert that deep into his affairs with the gang. There was nothing but trouble where he was going, and the mere thought of exposing him even more to the life he once lived made his stomach turn. 

Arthur shook his head and checked Albert’s lock screen for any new messages, and seeing the photo Albert took of him at the Met as his phone’s wallpaper brought a small smile to his face. His eyes then focused on the text from Charles, and he squinted as he read what airline he flew in on and that his ETA would be sometime around nine-thirty that morning.

The sound of Albert shifting under the covers reached his ears, and he looked over to find him slowly blinking open his eyes. 

“Mornin’,”

Albert hummed in response before a deep frown settled between his eyebrows, his stare catching the dark circles under Arthur's eyes. “Did you get _any_ sleep?”

He shrugged. “Maybe an hour.”

The photographer’s hazel eyes then settled on his phone that was in Arthur’s hands. “Any word from Charles yet?” 

“He’s flying in a lil’ after nine,”

Albert glanced at the clock and sat up quickly. “Goodness! I’d better get going if we’re going to pick him up in a timely manner.”

Arthur’s eyebrows pulled together as he gently laid a hand on his shoulder to keep him from getting up. “You can’t come with me.” 

“Why not?” He asked as confusion flickered behind his eyes. 

“It ain’t safe, and you can’t get mixed into this more than you already have. I won’t allow it.”

Albert reluctantly nodded, although he wished he could go with Arthur to comfort him, and he was only willing to stay behind because he knew Charles would be with Arthur. The man had known Arthur much longer than he had, and he trusted that Charles would have his back if anything were to go awry. 

Arthur set the phone down and sat on the edge of the bed, bringing a hand up to tilt Albert’s chin just enough to meet his eyes. “Don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll only be a phone call away.” 

He nodded. “Just remember what I said about that guilt. None of this is your fault.”

“I’ll try my best,”

There was so much more Albert wanted to say that he couldn't find the words for. Instead, he pulled Arthur closer and pressed his lips to his own. Arthur's eyes closed as he returned the kiss, and he tilted his head to get a better angle. The upcoming days would be their first spent apart since the bear trap incident, and Arthur couldn’t help but wonder what the distance would do to their relationship. He had confidence that nothing would change, but the thought still occurred to him that Albert might take the time to reconsider overlooking his past. 

What would he do if Albert changed his mind?

Arthur deepened the kiss as he tried to fight against the sudden surge of fear. However, feeling Albert reciprocate in kind helped him relax and eased his mind.

Albert eventually parted from him and rested his forehead against Arthur’s as his thumb idly traced the two scars on his chin. “Keep me updated, okay?”

“I will,”

“How are you planning on getting to JFK?”

He shrugged. “Maybe a taxi? Charles and I can rent a car at the airport.”

“You know, you can take my car for the week instead of going through all that trouble.”

Arthur's brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, I won’t miss it with the plethora of public transportation options available around here,”

“Thank you, Al, that’s…” Arthur cleared his throat as a surge of emotion caused his voice to falter, “that’s very kind of you.”

He ran a hand through Arthur’s hair and planted one last chaste kiss on his lips. “You better get going. I’ll tell Charles to look for a white Honda Fit. Tell him I said ‘hi’.” 

 

Arthur stared in the side-view mirror as he watched the different cars drive by, wondering briefly which vehicles held travelers and which held locals. Some were easier to tell than others, whether it was the unmistakable rental car barcode or the number of layers some people chose to wear. While it was cloudy, Arthur didn’t consider it to be cold, although there was a brisk breeze that would occasionally blow through the half-open windows of the subcompact car. 

The soft click of the door opening pulled his attention away from the mirror, and he looked over his shoulder to find Charles tossing a small suitcase into the back seat.

“How was your flight?” Arthur asked.

“Fine, although it was a little too rocky for my liking,” he replied as he settled into the passenger seat. “Is this Albert’s car?”

“Yeah, he said we could borrow it. He says hi by the way.”

Charles smiled to himself as Arthur pulled away from the arrivals curb. “Does he know what’s going on?”

He nodded. “He knows a lot of what’s going on.”

“How’re you holding up?” 

“I don’t think it’s quite set in yet what’s happened,”

Charles examined him. While a pair of sunglasses hid Arthur’s eyes, he could still tell that the man was thoroughly exhausted. Between the two of them, there couldn’t have been more than four hours of sleep. The coming days would be grueling, and Charles wasn’t sure if he was ready for whatever came next. His warm eyes then flitted to a few faded bruises on his neck and his brow furrowed. 

“Are those hickeys?” 

Arthur felt heat crawl up his neck as he tried pulling his collar higher. “Don’t even start!"

Charles smirked. “I’m glad you’ve been having a good time.”

“Shut up,”

“But on a serious note, you’re going to want to hide those when we get to the hospital. Dutch didn’t say who was there, but I can bet money Micah will be, and I _know_ you don’t want to hear any of his ribald jokes about who you’re seeing.”

Arthur scoffed. “I dunno, might give me an excuse to punch the bastard.” 

“I’d love to see that,”

A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth, and he was reminded of how grateful he was for Charles’ loyalty and support. It was a godsend, and Arthur was glad that he didn’t have to brave this alone.

They found parking close to the hospital’s entrance, and Arthur sighed as he stared at the off-white building. The worry that settled in his chest made it difficult to breathe. He didn’t know what he would find inside, and part of him feared what awaited him. Arthur hoped Hosea had made some improvement, but his mind still afflicted him with what-if scenarios. 

A hand on his arm snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked over to find Charles studying him with a concerned look.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“No, not really, but there’s nothin’ that can be done about it,” he answered as he withdrew a cellphone from his pocket. 

Charles eyed the simple flip phone. “You picked up a burner?”

“Yeah, did you tell John yet?”

“No,”

“Do you mind looking up the number to the construction company he works for?”

Charles read off the number to him when he’d found it, and Arthur held his breath as the line rang. To say he dreaded giving John the bad news was an understatement, and Charles could tell.

“Do you want me to tell him?”

Arthur shook his head and continued to wait. When someone had finally picked up the phone, he asked to speak to Jim Milton and waited another minute before John’s familiar raspy voice sounded on the other end.

“Hello?” 

“You got a minute, John?”

There was a brief pause. “Sure, why?”

“I, I’m sorry but I ain’t got good news,”

“Go on…”

“Hosea’s in the hospital. He had a stroke.”

“ _What?_ ”

“We’re about to see him now, but from what we’ve been told it ain’t good,”

The silence was thick as John processed the heavy news. “Where?”

“Somewhere near lake Carmel in Putnam County, but listen, don’t you dare come here and risk the safety of you and your family. You’ve been found out once already, and you can’t afford to make that same mistake twice.”

John grunted on the other end.

“I’m serious, John,”

“Can you...can you call me back so I can say goodbye? If he ain’t doin’ well, I mean.” He lowered his voice. “And in case you do call back, I’ll make up a story or somethin’ so my boss doesn't give you shit for calling again.”

Arthur frowned. “Listen, ain’t no one sayin’ goodbye just yet, alright? We’ll keep you updated.”

“I’ll get a burner so you can contact me,” he paused and Arthur could make out the sound of paper rustling. “What’s Charles’ number?”

Arthur rattled off Charles' number before giving John his burner's.

“Thanks, say, how come Charles is able to have a real cellphone but you can’t?” John huffed.

“Because he was smarter than all of us and steered clear of most of the bullshit,”

John laughed, and hearing the sound brought a small smile to his face. “Good point, keep me posted. I clock out around three o’ clock MDT.”

“Sure thing, give us a call when you can,” Arthur said as he glanced at his watch and made a mental note to expect a phone call around five. Arthur hung up and steeled himself as he tucked the phone away. He looked over at Charles as he removed his sunglasses. “You ready?”

“Only if you are,”

 “I ain’t, but there’s no point in turning back now.” He grunted as he grabbed a scarf and opened the car door.

Arthur felt his stomach knot as they walked over to the front desk. His hands felt cold and clammy as he drummed them against the counter while he waited for the receptionist to find Hosea’s room for them. The man told them the room number, and Arthur thanked him before they stepped into an elevator. 

The doors slid open after they arrived at the third floor, and he was greeted by the harsh smell of disinfectant. He hadn’t noticed the smell until now, and it made his blood run cold. With a shaky breath, he tried to fight the fear that threatened to root him to where he stood. Since stepping into the hospital, he couldn’t shake the cold sense of dread he felt. It was heavy, and he swallowed as he dared to lift his eyes to the sign that indicated where the ICU was.

Charles gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and led the way. Arthur trailed behind him, trying his best to ready himself for what he might see.

Except there was nothing he could’ve done to prepare for the sight that greeted them.

Hosea was nearly as white as the sheet that laid over him, and the ventilator he was on disrupted the smothering quiet of the room with its harsh sounds. Arthur’s eyes flicked up from the distressing sight to the LCD screen that monitored his vitals. However, the only thing he recognized was the line of P waves that displayed Hosea’s heart rate. He was at least alive, although lively was the last word Arthur would use to describe how the old man looked. Hosea looked far older and much frailer than he did several weeks ago and seeing the shape he was in made Arthur wonder when his health had declined so sharply.

A sigh sounded to his left and Arthur turned to see Dutch rising to his feet. “Arthur, Charles, I’m glad you two could make it.”

He swallowed. Exhausted didn’t even begin to describe how the man looked. His dark hair was disheveled and his button-up was wrinkled and more undone than usual. “How bad is it, Dutch?” 

“It’s bad, son,” he ran a hand over his face, “he’s gone.”

Arthur felt something inside him break at those words, and he tried to convince himself that he'd misheard Dutch. “What do you mean?”

Dutch’s lips formed a thin line, his expression pained as he looked Arthur over. “The stroke it...the blood ain’t flowing through his brain anymore. He’s dead.”

He shook his head in disbelief without meaning to and the words spilled from his mouth without thinking twice. “No, no he’s fine! He’s got a pulse and he’ll be up before we—” 

“Arthur,” Dutch interrupted as he placed his hands on his shoulders. “He’s not waking up.”

Between the sounds of the ventilator and the monitors, a deafening silence flooded the room. Arthur couldn’t move as he tried to process what he’d heard. 

The news was paralyzing. His eyes flicked over to Hosea, and he vaguely felt Charles gently sit him down in a nearby armchair. None of this felt real to Arthur, and while Dutch’s apologies sounded miles away, he managed to catch the last few words.

“It all happened so quickly. I thought it was the weather making him tired, so I told him to get some rest.”

Arthur blinked and his stare shifted from the tiled floor to Dutch. “When did you notice the change?”

“A few days ago, maybe,”

“A few days?” He repeated.

Dutch nodded. “I called 911 when he said he couldn’t see.”

“Are you kidding me?” He shouted as his anger flared without warning. “You’re telling me he was showing signs of a stroke for a few _days_ and you thought it was the damn _weather?_ ” 

He scoffed. “It ain’t like that! We’ve been busy trying to make sure everyone is taken care of. We need money to get out of here and maybe get to Canada. You of all people should understand how painstaking it is to plan out a robbery that big!”

“And who the hell is this _we,_ Dutch?” Arthur challenged as he rose to his feet.

“Everything alright in here, Dutch?”

Arthur turned to see Micah in the doorway and his fists clenched at his sides. The man’s eyes flicked over to him and he chuckled. 

“Well look what the cat dragged in!” Micah smirked.

For the first time since the man had joined their gang, Dutch shot him a fiery look. “Micah, best you show yourself out before you’re shown the way out.”

“But Dutch—”

“Do not argue with me!” He snapped. “This is a family matter.”

Micah glared at Arthur who returned the same heated stare. He opened his mouth to protest but stopped himself short before he begrudgingly left. 

Arthur unclenched his fists and exchanged a look with Charles, wordlessly asking him to stay. His friend nodded, and Arthur pulled his chair closer to Hosea’s side before taking out his burner phone. The device felt heavy in his hand, knowing that John would call eventually and that he would have to deliver the bad news.

The hours seemed to drag on as the three of them sat with Hosea. Every once in awhile, Dutch would ask Arthur how Alaska was and how he was getting on. His answers, however, were brief and curt. While his anger had subsided, bitterness had been quick to take its place. Arthur couldn’t understand how Dutch had missed the warning signs. He had even warned him, and the man had deliberately ignored him, had been too stubborn and blinded by his obsessions to see the writing on the wall. 

John called him at five o’ clock on the dot, and he took the news as well as expected. He was devastated, and Arthur’s heart nearly broke a second time when he was asked to hold the phone up to Hosea’s ear. Arthur waited until he couldn't hear John's voice anymore before bringing the phone back to his ear.

“He knew you loved him, John,” Arthur said, recalling the words Albert had used to help comfort him. “Don’t feel guilty for not being here. It’s probably best that you remember him as he was anyway instead of seeing him like...like this. It ain’t easy.” 

He was silent for a moment, and Arthur waited patiently for his response. “This whole thing was avoidable, wasn’t it? I can hear it in your voice.”

Arthur drew a deep breath through his nose and winced, the sharp flare of pain in his ribs announcing that the ibuprofen had worn off. He tried to regulate his breathing before answering him. “Yeah, it unfortunately was.”

He heard John swear on the other line.

“Just remember what I told you, alright? You can’t take the risk of—”

“I _know!”_ His tone was biting, and he sighed after realizing how harsh his words had been. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m just—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I understand.” Arthur replied. “Take it easy, John.”

“You too,”

When he hung up, he noticed that Charles was watching him closely with narrowed eyes. “What?”

“You're hurt, how did that happen?"

Arthur looked away. He should’ve known Charles would’ve caught wind of his injury. “I got into a fight with some O’Driscolls on Sunday,” he paused as he turned to Dutch, “they tried to make me talk, but I didn’t say a word. They’re looking for you, and they know you’re in New York.” 

Dutch raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been in New York the last few days?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

“What for, might I ask?”

His tone was more suspicious than conversational, and Arthur frowned as he tilted his head. He had never done anything to make Dutch question his loyalty. He’d even risked his life on more than one occasion for him, and hearing Dutch question him only made his bitterness settle like cement. The man had practically raised him as his own, and Arthur had spent _years_ pouring out his loyalty and devotion to him. It was the only way he knew how to thank Dutch for taking him off the streets and out of the foster care system, and now the man was doubting him?

“If it matters that much to you, Mary asked me to help her with a few things,” it was a bald-faced lie, and Arthur was surprised by how convincing it sounded even to his own ears.

“And you didn’t pay us a visit?” 

He was on his feet in an instant. "No, but if I had known you'd ignore Hosea's stroke symptoms, I would've! Hell, I warned you about this, Dutch, and you told me to have some faith." He paused as his eyes narrowed. "Look at how much good that's done!"

Charles was quick to step in front of him, and Arthur’s eyes flicked up to meet his. They were warm as always, sure and steady, yet full of concern. “Take a walk, Arthur.”

He felt the heat of anger return to a simmer, and he stormed out of the room without another word. Arthur strode down the hallway, not caring where he walked. Although it couldn’t have been more than five minutes when he heard a voice he knew all too well.

“Well if it isn’t the golden boy gracing me with his presence,” Micah jeered from the bench he sat on.

Arthur stopped and shot him a warning look. “I ain’t in the mood, Micah.”

“Of course not, you’re never in the mood for anything,”

“Why the hell are you here, anyway?”

“Moral support,”

He scoffed. “Immoral’s more your speed.”

Micah rolled his eyes. “Would you give it a rest, Morgan? The old man may be dead, but there’s no need to be an asshole.” 

It took all of Arthur’s strength not to slug him, and he forced himself to keep walking toward a set of elevators down the hall. He took one down to the second floor where he decided to use the cafeteria as a distraction, grabbing a cup of coffee as well as a few things for Charles and himself. With a sigh, he sat down at a table and sipped the steaming drink. The coffee, however, was more water than it was coffee. It made Arthur scowl, and after throwing it away, he went back to the cashier to get an energy drink instead.

When he returned to the room Hosea was in, he found that Dutch had left. Charles, however, was still seated in a chair. Arthur handed him a bag of beef jerky and took a seat in the chair beside him. 

“Not sure if you’ve got the appetite, but I thought I’d get you something just in case,”

“Thanks, Arthur,”

He nodded as he leaned back in the chair. “Where’d Dutch go?”

“He’s talking with a doctor or someone about...potential next steps,” 

Arthur’s gaze shifted to Charles as he tensed. “What kind of steps?”

He paused before looking him in the eye. “When to take him off life support, for one.”

Arthur’s eyes lowered to the floor, and he felt his chest tighten. In his mind, he knew it had been coming, but hearing it out loud was different. Hearing it said aloud reinforced the harsh reality that there was no hope for Hosea. He was gone, and there was nothing that could be done to get him back. As he shifted in his chair, he managed to bump his bruised side, and he sucked in a lungful of air through his teeth. Charles frowned and reached over to pull up the hem of his shirt to examine the dark contusions. 

“I’ve seen worse on you, but those are some nasty bruises.”

“Yeah, Al and I were at a pub when it happened. One of the O’Driscolls got handsy with him, so I knocked him out. His friends weren’t too happy about that.”

Charles made a tsk sound. “Picking fights where you’re outnumbered like always. You’d think one would know better by now.”

“Yeah, guess I’m too stubborn for my own good,”

“I would’ve never guessed,” Charles replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he let go of Arthur’s shirt.

He rolled his eyes, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

Dutch eventually returned, although Arthur couldn’t tell how long he’d been gone. Arthur’s sense of time had left him when he’d arrived at the hospital, his mind cloudy and out of sorts from the awful news that felt relentless and without end. 

“It’s been decided that this will be Hosea’s last night on life support. He hasn’t been with us for the last two days, and it’s time we let him go.” Dutch said.

Arthur closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands. The entire situation felt unreal to him, and he ran a hand through his hair once he’d lifted his head again. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and low. “Can I have some time alone with him, please?”

“Of course, son. Whatever you need.” Dutch replied as he patted his shoulder.

When he could hear neither Charles nor Dutch’s footsteps, he scooted his chair closer to Hosea’s bedside and tentatively took hold of the man’s cold hand. While Arthur wasn’t a religious man, he hoped that Hosea had found peace.

“I know you can’t hear me, but I wish I could’ve been there for you like you had always been there for me.” He sighed. “Things could’ve been different if you'd just gone with me, but you always did put others first.”

Arthur leaned back after a moment and pulled out his burner phone. He sent a text to Charles asking for Albert’s number, and not even a minute had passed when he received a response. Arthur replied with a ‘thanks’ and stared at the number. There was a part of him that was reluctant to call the photographer. In Arthur’s mind, there were a plethora of reasons not to call Albert, and he feared he would either be bothering the man or interrupting something.

He finally drew a deep breath, reminding himself that Albert had asked for updates, and dialed the number. The line rang a few times, and Arthur was tempted to hang up until he heard the dial tone cut short.

“Hello?”

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. “Hey, Al.” 

“Arthur! How is he?”

He glanced up at Hosea, and his eyes briefly flitted to the monitors before staring at his boots. “Not good, the stroke killed his brain.”

Silence.

“Al?”

“Oh, Arthur, I’m so sorry. I wish I could be there for you."

"Me too, but it's good you didn't come." Micah was a brute, and while he hadn't hurt anyone in the gang, Arthur didn't want him even knowing Albert existed. The man was corrupt to his core. Arthur had smelled it the day he met Micah. Nothing good ever happened when he was around, and Arthur would never forgive himself if Micah insofar as laid a finger on him.

Arthur shook the thought from his head and glanced at the minutes remaining on the phone to find he had just under an hour left.

"When is he…" Albert's voice trailed off as he struggled to find the right words.

"They're taking him off life support tonight. Not sure of anything after that."

“Oh,”

He pinched the bridge of his nose as the events of the day began to sink in. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye, Al. Not really, anyway. I was just an hour away, and I didn’t even think to check in on him.”

“Arthur—”

“I could’ve done something! Hell, he’d still be alive if I had just—”

Albert interrupted the thought by gently shushing him over the phone. “Don’t even go there. Remember what I said about that guilt.”

“He was having stroke symptoms for at _least_ two days.”

“And you tried warning them,”

Arthur shook his head. “I could’ve pushed back harder.”

The line went silent again, and Arthur pulled at the fraying end of a tear in his jeans as he waited for Albert to speak again.

“I’m sure you could go on forever listing all the things you could have done, but for what it’s worth, there’s plenty of good that you _did_ do. Sure, you didn’t visit this go around, but you did last time, right?” Albert asked.

“Yeah,”

“And you made a point to mention Hosea’s health, didn’t you?”

“I did,”

“So focus on those two things. You tried, and that in itself is worth something.”

Arthur merely grunted. That was easier said than done, but he was at least willing to try. "Are you in the middle of anything right now?"

“No, why?”

“I have maybe thirty minutes left on this burner. You think you have the time to…” Arthur wasn’t sure how to say it, but he wanted to stay on the phone with Albert for a while. He wouldn’t mind if nothing was said between them. Somehow just knowing Albert was on the other end brought some comfort to him.

“Of course!”

He relaxed and leaned back in his chair. “Thank you.”

Albert was quiet for a moment, although Arthur could hear him doing something in the background. "How are your ribs? Are you taking care of yourself?"

"What did I say about worrying about me?" Arthur replied with a light tone in his voice.

"I can't help it. I'm not used to the apartment being so quiet and my thoughts they kind of...well, they can get carried away."

Arthur frowned. “How so?”

He heard Albert sigh. “It’s silly, really. Forget I mentioned it.”

“It ain’t silly. What’s got you worried?”

He hesitated. “I...well, I guess I’m concerned about your health. You looked exhausted when you left, and what you’re facing isn’t easy. I’m also worried you might do something you’ll regret or that the gang will pull you back in and…”

Arthur waited patiently for a moment before speaking. “And what?”

“And nothing, please forgive me, Arthur. My brain has been a mess all day.” 

He wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t have it in him to press Albert any further. “Ain’t nothin’ that needs forgivin’.” 

“Would you like to tell me something about Hosea? Maybe a story about the two of you?” 

Arthur thought it over for a moment. Where would he even start? 

Eventually, he decided to tell Albert about the day he first met Dutch and Hosea when he was fifteen and had tried robbing them unsuccessfully. He fondly recalled how Hosea hadn’t been too keen on taking in a teenager but had quickly warmed up to him and took him under his wing regardless. 

“Not too long after that, I managed to piss off this guy at a bar. He was twice my size, and I overestimated how drunk he was when I tried pickpocketing him. The guy dragged me outside and nearly throttled me. I was lucky Hosea saw the whole thing. He was outside nearly a second later with a pistol pointed at the guy’s head. That was the first time I’d ever seen him that angry.”

“What did he say about the pickpocketing?” Albert asked.

“He told me that the bruises on my neck were enough of a reminder that I wasn't using my head.” Arthur paused as he glanced up at Hosea. “He taught me so many things, Al. How to be a gentleman, when to speak and when to act or just sit silently, how to survive… I don’t know what I’m gonna do without him.”

“Start by keeping him in your memory. That might be the easiest place to start right now.” 

“Thanks,” he paused as he checked his watch. “And Al?”

“Yes, Arthur?” 

He drew a deep breath, hesitating for a brief moment before he found the courage to say what he wanted to say. “I love you.”

Arthur waited for a few seconds before his phone indicated that the call had ended. He frowned and pulled the phone away from his ear to find that he had run out of minutes. Muttering a curse under his breath, he closed the phone and rested his head in his hand. He had the worst of luck, from being unable to save Hosea, to unsuccessfully conveying how he felt. Albert deserved so much better, and Arthur briefly wished he had resisted his romantic feelings for the photographer’s sake.

A chirp from his phone startled him, and with eyebrows drawn together, he checked his phone to find that he had a text. It was from Albert, and reading it brought a smile to his face. Albert had heard him, and the text that came through had those four words Arthur had been hoping to hear. 

 

_I love you too. =)_

 

Arthur stared at the screen for another minute, savoring the sweet moment in the midst of the tragedy he’d found himself in. He only closed his phone when he heard footsteps approaching the room from the hall. It was Dutch from the sounds of it, and the hand that came down to rest on his shoulder only confirmed his hunch.

“Are you ready, Arthur?” He asked as a doctor took his place beside a machine. 

“No,” he sighed, “but what choice do I have?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so grateful for all the lovely comments you all post and for your support! I hope each and every one of you have a fantastic week <3
> 
> Fun fact: the title of this chapter is inspired by Edward Pollock's poem "The Parting Hour". You can find it here:
> 
> http://americanliteraryblog.blogspot.com/2014/01/pollocks-parting-hour-fated-all-to-part.html


	13. Awakening

 It was well into the night when they returned to the lake house. Arthur dropped his duffle bag onto the floor after stepping into the guest room. With a deep aching in his heart, he realized it was the same room he’d stayed in last time. It was where he’d had one of his last conversations with Hosea, one where the man had suggested that he leave this whole lifestyle behind him and move on. He rubbed his face as he squeezed his eyes shut, his breath involuntarily hitching. 

Charles, who had decided to share the room with Arthur instead of sharing a room with Uncle in the guest house, set his bag down before turning Arthur towards him and pulling him into a hug. Arthur leaned into the embrace, utterly exhausted and worn to the bone. His friend didn’t say anything, and Arthur was oddly grateful for the comfort he found in his silence.

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep, Arthur,” Charles said after a while as he rubbed his back. “It’s been a long two days for you.”

“That might be easier said than done,”

“I’m only asking that you try,”

Arthur nodded against Charles’ shoulder and had started to make his way toward the couch on the opposite side of the room when he felt Charles grasp his arm.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the couch,” Arthur grumbled.

“Not with those ribs you aren't,”

He exhaled an irritated huff. “I’ll be fine!”

“Sorry, I'm not letting you settle,”

Arthur frowned as he struggled against the hand that had an iron-like grip on his arm. “Let go, Charles! I ain’t in the mood!”

“I don’t care, you’re taking the damn bed,” he retorted.

He muttered under his breath. “We could  _both_ take the bed for fuck’s sake!”

“Sorry, but I’m not taking the chance of bumping you in your ribs during the night, and that bed is  _way_  too small to comfortably fit both of us.”

 Arthur sighed. In their competition of sheer stubbornness, he was losing, and he tried to blame it on the fatigue that weighed him down. He didn’t have the strength nor the energy to fight this battle, and while he was in no mood to admit it, Charles had an iron will that was stronger than his own when he so desired. Although, he still had the strength in him to protest one last time.

“I ain’t gonna get any sleep tonight, you know,” Arthur sighed. 

“And what if you do? I’d rather you take the bed on the off chance that you  _do_  get the rest you need, even if that's only an hour or so,” Charles then offered a smile. “You look like you’re about ready to drop.”

He snorted. “Gee, thanks,”

“Just take the bed and try getting some sleep, please?”

He rubbed his eyes, muttering under his breath as he reluctantly yielded. 

Arthur was happy to change into his sleeping clothes. The smell of the hospital had lingered with them, and every whiff of it was like salt in a fresh wound that had cut to the bone. He closed his eyes as he collapsed onto the bed, feeling an ache throughout his entire being. After adjusting his pillow, he pulled the covers higher over himself as he heard Charles get settled.

"Goodnight, Arthur," he said.

"G'night,"

 

Arthur stared through the widow's sheer curtains and watched the break of day lazily stretch its fingers of light across the sky. He didn’t have to check his watch to know that it was obscenely early, and it dawned on him that he had only slept for maybe three hours within the last two days. A weary sigh fell from his lips. Sleep had been hard to come by, and watching Hosea slip away hadn’t made it any easier. For most of the night, he had wrestled with the reality that the man he loved more than a father was gone. The man who he aspired to be, had even taken after despite not being Hosea’s own flesh and blood, was dead. There was so much that wouldn’t be the same without him. Arthur had Hosea to thank for his love for fishing and his preference for black coffee among other things, and while he wouldn’t have it any other way, it occurred to him that they would be painful reminders of Hosea’s absence all the same. 

He lifted his head to glance at Charles who was still asleep on the couch across the room. At least his friend had gotten some sleep despite his lesser sleeping arrangement. Arthur recalled their argument over sleeping arrangements the night before, remembering how he had warned Charles that he wouldn’t be getting much sleep anyway. His friend had been more hopeful, but Arthur had been right, of course.

Arthur sighed once more and quietly changed into a gray button-up and a pair of black jeans. He pulled out a black sweater Albert had convinced him to borrow perchance he needed something to wear to a funeral. Arthur held the sweater up to his face and drew a deep breath of the lingering scent of Albert’s cologne. He longed for Albert to be there with him, but he snuffed the thought and reminded himself of the very real risks Albert would’ve faced from simply joining him. Arthur shook his head and pulled the sweater over his head with a brief grimace, wrapped a scarf around his neck, and grabbed his journal before leaving the room. 

As he walked down the stairs, a glance at his watch told him it was just after six in the morning. He ran a hand over his face and made his way to the kitchen where he began to get a pot of coffee going. Once the pot started to hiss from the dripping coffee, he leaned against the counter and stared out the window to his left. His thoughts wandered as the familiar sound of brewing coffee interrupted the silence of the kitchen. The plan was to have the funeral that afternoon by the lake, but Arthur wasn’t sure what his own plan was after that. He didn’t know if he and Charles would be sticking around afterward, or if they even wanted to. Hosea had been right about the state of the gang, and now that he had the eyes to see it, there were far too many things that had changed. 

The creaking of the wood floor pulled him away from his thoughts and he looked over to see Miss Grimshaw. 

“Good morning, Arthur,” she said. “That sweater looks nice on you.”

“Thanks, it’s a friend’s.” He replied. “Coffee should be ready soon if you want some.”

“That sounds wonderful.” She stood beside him as they waited, and they were both quiet for a while before she spoke again. “Hosea used to get up this early every morning and make himself a cup of coffee.”

“Yeah, that’s one of the many things he passed down. Sleeping in is a rarity thanks to him. Hell, do you remember the days he’d wake John and I up at the crack of dawn while we were in Illinois? So early that John would try to argue that it wasn't even morning yet?”

She chuckled. “How can I not?”

“I  _still_ remember the morning he sent Copper into our room chasing some stray cat he found outside. He shut them both in our room and we had to wrangle them both while half asleep!”

“And don’t forget the morning after you two went drinking without telling anyone! I wanted to kill you two for that, giving us such a scare. John wasn’t even of age at the time!” She shook her head, recalling the memory as if it was yesterday. “But Hosea knew two buckets of ice water would teach you two a lesson.”

Arthur snorted. “It did. I don't think we ever stayed out late like that again, at least not without telling someone first.”

“And  _you_  were old enough to know better!” She smirked as she elbowed him in his side, which made him thankful she was standing on his right.

“I know, I know,” he huffed.

She sighed and folded her arms across her chest. “I miss him.”

“Yeah, me too,”

“We would start our mornings like this almost every day. That’s how I knew something was wrong. Sure, sometimes he would sleep in, but once it was ten in the morning, I knew I needed to check on him.”

Arthur frowned as he looked over at her. “What?”

“He was still in bed, hardly responsive and not sure of where he was, and I just knew I had to call 911.” 

The coffee pot beeped as his thoughts came to a grinding halt. “Dutch said  _he_  was the one who made the call.” 

She scoffed. “Like hell he did! He was too busy scheming with Micah to even notice.”

Arthur felt his blood run hot as he grasped the full weight of Susan’s words. Dutch had lied to him, and the realization had him wondering if Charles had been right about Dutch since Richmond.

After helping himself to a cup of coffee, he excused himself and exited through the front door to clear his head. He spent several hours journaling, drawing, and doing anything else that would distract him from his turbulent emotions. When he did sketch, the drawings were messy and rough, and he had written almost fifteen pages when the sound of crunching gravel beneath tires caught his attention. His eyes flicked up from his journal and he squinted as he tried to make out who it was behind the wheel. When he did finally make out the driver, he swore loudly and closed his journal with a loud slap before setting it aside. He knew that lanky figure anywhere. 

“ _Marston?_  What the fuck are you doing here?” He snapped as he marched over to where John was shutting the door to a rental car.

“What the fuck does it look like,  _Morgan?_ ” John replied, his tone matching Arthur’s all too easily. 

Arthur seized him by the collar of his black button-up. “I told you to stay where you were! You never listen! You didn’t listen in Richmond, and look how that turned out. Now you ain’t listening to me again!”

“I helped save your sorry ass,  _that's_ how that turned out! Don't even pretend you had that situation under control." He snapped. "And did you really expect me to sit on my ass at home instead of paying my respects?”

Arthur ignored his comments. “You’re a damn fool putting your whole family in danger like this!”

“Don't you lecture me about that  _again_ , not now. Abigail agreed that I needed this, she called it closure, whatever that means. Now let go of me!” 

 Arthur did, although his stare remained fiery. John didn’t know what he had, didn’t understand what it was like to lose everything. Sadie and Charles had worked their asses off to keep him and his family out of trouble and out of sight, and Arthur had especially done all that he possibly could to help. In a twisted way, perhaps he had been trying to make up for what he couldn’t do for his own family all those years ago. Yet here John was, despite warning him repeatedly. It made Arthur want to punch him square in the mouth. 

"I can't believe—”

John swore under his breath. "Would you get off your high horse for one damn second and listen to me? Hosea was like a dad to me too, Arthur! Dutch may have saved me, but it was Hosea who taught me most of what I know. I couldn't even say goodbye, and now you're gonna dare to deny me this?"

Arthur sighed and stared out at the treeline by the gravel road before meeting his eyes again. He still couldn't believe John had compromised his family's safety, but he could understand why John had done it. "No, I guess not. But you can't tell anyone where you're holed up, not even the region. You understand?"

"No shit, I ain't stupid, Arthur!"

"You may not be, but you sure as hell do stupid things sometimes." He smirked. "Now come 'ere." 

Arthur pulled him into a crushing hug, his frame nearly engulfing John's. A grunt and a huff of air escaped the man before he lifted his arms to return the embrace. It had been too long since Arthur had seen John, and while he was still annoyed with him, it was nice to be standing face to face with him again after a full year. 

John was the first to pull away, although Arthur didn't make it easy for him. He struggled like a cat to escape his grasp, and with a small smile, Arthur straightened his flat cap before looking him over. 

"You cut your hair," He noted.

"Yeah,"

"And I didn't know you had it in you to grow a beard!"

"Shut up," John quipped as he gave his shoulder a playful shove. 

"You know, you might be an idiot, but I'm glad you're here. How’d you find this place, anyway?”

John rolled his eyes. “It ain’t  _that_ hard to find Dutch. You just gotta find the right people and ask the right questions. It ain’t like Dutch keeps to himself. So what the hell is going on here? You’ve been too damn tightlipped about this whole thing, and I don't like it.”

Arthur glanced at the house behind him before meeting John’s eyes again. “Here ain’t the place to talk about that. Let's take a walk so I can catch you up on everything."

 

Albert stared at the photos on the computer screen behind his desk and took a sip from his third cup of coffee that day. He’d grown accustomed to sharing a living space with someone and readjusting, even if only for a few days, hadn't been easy. His sleep had been inconsistent, and it didn’t help that his fears had been playing with his mind. While Albert knew without a doubt that Arthur could hold his own, he couldn’t help but wonder if he would want to stay with his gang for good. Other than knowing Arthur had run with a gang he considered to be family for a long while, Albert was mostly in the dark when it came to Arthur’s ties and loyalty to them. Arthur had been trying so hard to leave his past behind him, and Albert only hoped the man would continue those efforts. 

He saw his coworker enter the photo studio out of the corner of his eye and looked up, thankful for the distraction. “Good afternoon, Joel.”

The man looked up and stopped mid-step as he flashed a smile. “Hey! Welcome back! How was Alaska?”

“Eventful,” he chuckled, “but I actually kind of miss it.”

“Are you sure? You look like you need a vacation from your vacation.”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, no offense, but you look like hell.”

Albert laughed as he rubbed his eyes. “It’s been a long few days.”

“Why don’t you take it easy then? There are only two scheduled appointments for today, anyway. Do what you can from home if you’d like, but you look like you need some rest.” Joel said as he hung his jacket on a coat rack. 

“I think I just might take you up on that,”

“Good,” he replied, “your health is more important than deadlines.”

Albert thanked him and packed up his things before making his way to the bus stop just down the street. He checked his phone as he waited, and he wasn’t sure if he was relieved or more worried when he saw he didn’t have any notifications. Albert sighed and boarded the bus, and as he did, he reminded himself that Arthur had to return at some point regardless. The man had borrowed his car, after all. The thought helped him relax, and he watched the storefronts pass by until the bus finally reached his stop. 

After unlocking the door to his apartment, he set his keys down on the bistro table where he found Arthur’s hat. He tilted his head, realizing he’d been so tired that he hadn’t noticed it earlier. As he picked it up, he found a note lying underneath it. It was undoubtedly Arthur’s handwriting. Albert could recognize his beautiful penmanship anywhere. He took a seat and decided to read the note.

 

_Dear Albert,_

_I’m not sure when you’ll find this note, but I hope it finds you well._

_I ain’t very good with words, as you already know. It ain’t my strong suit and the words that I want to say always seem to flow easier when I put a pen to paper._

_I could spend the rest of forever trying to find the words to express how grateful I am for you. I can count on one hand the people I know who have a heart as big as yours, and even then it’s not many. I haven’t really done anything to deserve your kindness, let alone your love, and yet you freely give and give. This week may be one of the worst ones I’ve seen, and yet you’ve selflessly remained by my side through it all. That means more to me than you’ll ever know._

_I don’t plan on lingering with the gang for long. It ain’t what it used to be, and I fear that this trip has nothing good in store. As much as I value your company, it’s for the best that you stay in Manhattan. I know some rotten people, and I would never forgive myself if something were to happen to you because of me._

_Anyway, I hope you know that regardless of whatever the future may hold, you’re important to me, and if you had told me all those weeks ago that I’d be writing you this sappy letter, I would’ve laughed in your face and told you to get lost. Yet here I am, writing you this letter, and here you are reading it. At least I hope you are._

_As I write this, you’re sound asleep in your bed, and while I’m on the couch now, I know that I’ll be looking forward to seeing you again while I’m gone._

_Most faithfully yours,_

_Arthur_

 

Albert couldn’t help the wide smile that the letter brought him. It was the last thing he expected to find, and it reassured him that he had nothing to fear regarding Arthur potentially rejoining his gang.

A sharp knock on his door startled him, and Albert furrowed his brow as he tucked the note away in his back pocket. He never received visitors unannounced, and when he opened the door, he saw a man that looked vaguely familiar. 

“Can I help you?” He asked.

“I hope so, Mr. Mason.” The stranger said. “May I come in?”

Albert immediately regretted not checking the peephole first, and while he wanted to say no, one glance at the FBI badge on his lapel had him reconsidering. He had every right to deny the man entry, but it would no doubt look suspect. “Sure, come on in.”

He closed the door after the man and tried to pull himself together despite his nerves. Drawing a deep breath, he turned to find the gentleman observing his apartment.

“You are quite a talented photographer, Mr. Mason,” 

He swallowed, feeling ice settle in his gut. “You've seen my work?”

“I have, and I couldn't help but notice that the subject of your photography as of late tends to be a man by the name of Arthur Morgan. Are you aware of what he’s done?” 

Albert shrugged, deciding to try his hand at feigning ignorance despite the pounding of his heart. “I know he’s done a handful of misdemeanors.”

The mustached gentleman chuckled to himself. “I’m afraid his crimes are more serious than that.”

“Really? Honestly, mister…?”

“Ross,”

“Well, Mr. Ross, I didn’t get to know the man that well. We got along, but he was tight-lipped about nearly everything. I’m not even sure if the jaws of life could pry that gentleman open.”

“I suppose not, although I did see that he was in New York recently with you.” He turned away from the window to face Albert. “Why was that?”

“He said he’d never been to Manhattan, so I convinced him to take a short trip. Actually, he went back to Alaska Saturday night.”

“Are you sure?”

“That’s what he told me before he left,”

“Did he mention the name John Marston at all?”

Albert shook his head. “No, like I said he’s a reserved man.”

"I see," he said before pulling a business card out of his breast pocket. "Here's my card. If Mr. Morgan contacts you again for any reason, give me a call. There's a warrant for his friend's arrest, and we'd prefer to get him off the streets as soon as possible."

"Of course," Albert replied as he took the card.

"You take care, Mr. Mason," the agent said as he tipped his hat.

"And you as well, sir,"

Once Ross had closed the door after him, Albert exhaled a shaky sigh and sat in a chair by the bistro table. His knees felt weak and his chest was tight as if he'd run a marathon. Albert ran a trembling hand through his hair before pulling his phone out of his pocket. He had to warn Arthur and Charles.

 

John shook his head and ran a hand over his face as they finished their walk around the lake. He was still processing the news Arthur had relayed to him, although all things considered, he was doing fairly well. 

“Shit, I didn’t realize things were that bad here.” He finally said. 

Arthur didn’t reply as they made their way toward the house. He hadn't quite known either, at least not the full extent of it until now. Something rotten had found its way into the gang, and he was willing to bet money that Micah was the source of it. 

And of course, who else would they encounter on the front porch but the miscreant himself. He looked up from the hunting knife he was sharpening, his eyes flying wide before narrowing in a scowl at the sight of John.

“Look who had the balls to show up and leave the safety of his hole,”

“Shut up, Micah,” John retorted.

“You better not have led the law to us!”

“Good thing you got plenty of ammunition,” Arthur sneered.

Micah didn’t have the chance to respond before the porch door swung open. It was Dutch, his expression soft with genuine surprise. “John? I—”

“I’m only here for Hosea,” John said as he cut him short. “I came to pay my respects.” 

Dutch eyed him, his gaze shifting briefly to Arthur before returning to John. “Of course, son.”

There was a moment of charged silence, and the sound of someone walking briskly to the front door was the only thing that broke it. It was Charles who appeared through the porch door, his phone in hand and expression tight. The sight of John didn’t seem to do any favors for his tense posture as his eyebrows lifted in surprise. He was stunned, and his eyes flicked over to Micah and Dutch before he finally spoke.

“Afternoon, gentlemen, mind if I have a word with these two in private?”

Micah crossed his arms. “I’m sure whatever it is you have to say can be said here.”

Dutch silenced Micah with a wave of his hand and spoke up before Arthur had the chance to reply with a scathing remark. “Of course, Charles. Take all the time you need to sort this one out.”

Arthur bit his tongue to prevent himself from speaking until Dutch and Micah were inside. Before Charles spoke, he eyed the two of them as he chose his next words carefully.

“So, what are your thoughts on our welcoming committee, John?” 

He chuckled to himself. “Somethin’s crawled up their asses for sure,” he then gestured to Arthur, “and for a solid minute I thought this one was gonna punch the daylights out of me.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “It ain’t  _my_ fault you do dumb things.”

“Well, I hate to interrupt this lovely reunion, but there is something I need to tell you, Arthur, and you being here John saves me from making a phone call.”

Arthur exchanged a glance with John. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes and no, Albert just texted us to let us know that the FBI agent from Alaska is now in New York sniffing around for the two of you.”

His heart dropped. “Is he alright?”

“He assured me that everything is fine. He also wanted me to tell you not to worry about him.”

John furrowed his brow as he tried to follow their conversation. “Wait, who’s Albert?”

Arthur sighed and took a seat on the porch steps. “He’s a photographer from Manhattan that I met in Alaska. We’re...well, I guess you could say we’re together.”

“You guess?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh please, he gave you his sweater to wear and you’re saying you  _guess_ you’re together?” Charles asked.

“He lent it to me because I didn’t pack anything nice to wear, and maybe I just don’t know what he wants to call this.” 

It was Charles turn to cock an eyebrow. He then rolled his eyes and reached down to lower Arthur’s scarf just enough to reveal the lingering bruises. “With leaving these behind, I’m pretty sure that he would at least consider your status as ‘together’.”

Arthur batted his hand away and readjusted his scarf with a huff as John snickered. “ _Anyway_ , what the hell are we gonna do now that Agent Ross and John are now only a handful of counties away from each other?”

“We’ll do what we’ve always done; we stay low and hope for the best.” 

“Somehow that don’t make me feel any better.”

“For crying out loud, Arthur, would you stop your worrying? Everything is going to be fine! I have a red-eye flight taking me back tonight anyway.” John said.

Arthur wasn’t convinced but said nothing more.

“Miss Grimshaw said that they’re going to start the funeral in the next two hours. I’m going to see if there’s any way I can help.” Charles said before entering the house.

John leaned against the railing beside the stairs Arthur was sitting on and studied him quietly. “So, you’re with a man now?”

Arthur looked up at him as his brow furrowed ever so slightly, unsure where John was going with this conversation. “Yeah,”

“I thought you had sworn off romance,”

He snorted. “That’s what I thought too.”

“This guy Albert, what does he know?”

“Most things,” he replied as he leaned back and rested his arms on the step behind him. “But not everything.”

“Is he trustworthy?”

He stared out at the lake. If he had been asked that question even a week ago, he would’ve said no, but now there was a depth of trust that Arthur didn’t know how to explain. Albert was genuine and kind, selfless and sincere. The photographer didn’t wear any masks, and while his personality was charming and his features were pleasing, Arthur realized that it was his honesty that had initiated the idea of trusting Albert.  

“Yeah, I’d trust him with my life,” he finally said.

“Really?”

“Really,”

John eyed him before finally nodding to himself. “Good, that’s more than I ever got from you when I asked about Mary. This guy really must be somethin’. I wish I could meet him.”

“Maybe you can,” he mused. “Charles and I haven't discussed when we're leaving, but I know we don’t intend to stay around for long. We could meet Albert for an early dinner that you would be more than welcomed to join.”

“I wouldn’t mind that,” 

 

For as many deaths as Arthur had experienced in his lifetime, he couldn't think of a single funeral he'd been to. His father had been given the death penalty, and by the time he'd passed, Arthur had already been placed in the foster care system. Not that he'd really cared. His father's death had been expected, and it had been a relief to know he was gone. The date of Eliza and Isaac's funeral, however, was something that Arthur had never been able to pinpoint when he'd heard the news. Although, in hindsight, he could've known if he truly wanted to. In a way, he had felt too guilty to even consider showing up at their funeral.

He glanced at Charles who stood beside him. His friend had cleaned up nicely, wearing a charcoal button-down paired with a pair of black trousers. There weren't enough words to express how thankful Arthur was for his presence and the pillar of strength that he was, and as if Charles had caught wind of the thought, he reached up and gave Arthur's shoulder a gentle squeeze. 

Dutch's well-rehearsed eulogy by the lake was full of stiff and long words from the books he read. A month ago, Arthur would've been captivated by his words, spellbound and wooed into believing whatever Dutch wanted him to. Yet he had taken off those rose-tinted glasses a few days ago, and what would've been a breathtaking speech now felt canned. Pieced together to impress rather than to convey a heartfelt message. 

Arthur could taste his bitterness rising in the back of his throat. Hosea deserved so much more than some impromptu funeral at a lake, yet somehow it was oddly fitting. Hosea was a simple man who, despite his greatness, was humble and selfless. Perhaps he would've wanted this. Just his friends and family gathered together amid nature instead of within the four walls of a building he'd never stepped foot into. 

When Dutch had finished, he spread Hosea's ashes out onto the lake, and there was a moment of silence. He heard John exhale shakily beside him, and Arthur brought a hand up to rest on his shoulder. Arthur didn't have to look over to know John was struggling, but he stole a glance anyway. While he had put on a brave face, there was a sea of emotions behind his eyes. It made Arthur’s heart ache something fierce, and he wished he could ease all that John felt. Unlike John, he had been able to visit Hosea and correspond with him, and if Arthur felt guilty, he couldn’t imagine what the young man must’ve been feeling. Hosea's death had left Arthur devastated, but at least he had been able to say goodbye.

As the candle that Miss Grimshaw had lit floated out on the lake, members of the gang dispersed a few at a time. Only a few of them had decided to linger, and Arthur had to clear his voice before he spoke up.

“Are you packed, Charles?” He asked in a hushed tone.

“I am,”

“Good, the sooner we leave the better,”

Charles nodded. “I couldn’t agree more. I’ll pack the car, it looks like Dutch wants to speak to you.” 

Arthur saw it too as the dark-haired man made his way toward them, and with a furrowed brow, he straightened his shoulders. “You might want to go with him, John.”

While John wanted to argue with him, he held back and took the hint.

Dutch sighed and placed his hands on his hips as he approached him. “You know, there’s a part of me that still can’t believe he’s gone. He was there for me, for both of us, for  _years_ , decades, even.” 

“I know. It’s hard to imagine life without him in it.” 

“Truly,” he shook his head, “he was one of the wisest men I knew.”

Arthur stared at the candle as it became indistinct from the lake the further it drifted away. “If you had just listened to me—”

“Dammit, not this  _again,_ Arthur! I am not in the mood for another one of your little self-righteous lectures! If you were so convinced something was wrong, then why didn’t you visit us, hm?”

He scowled and clamped his jaw shut, refusing to answer the question.

Dutch shook his head. “How long do you plan on staying anyway?”

“Once the car is packed, we’re leaving,”

“You ain’t staying?”

“No,” he drew a deep breath, “in fact, Dutch, I’m through with all this.”

His dark eyes narrowed as he studied him. “What are you saying, son?” 

“I want no part in this no more. I’m done being tied to this sort of life, and I’m ready to move on.” 

“ _What?”_ He stared at him for a long moment in silence before reaching out to place a hand on his shoulder. “Arthur, think this through for a moment. What would Hosea say?” 

Arthur shrugged away from his hand, his bitterness rising to the surface once again. “Hosea was the one who suggested it!”

Dutch blinked, and his expression was blank as he processed Arthur’s words. “I see… Well, let’s not make any rash decisions. Go home and take a few days to sit on it before you decide that you’re certain you want to do this.”

“I’ve already made my choice,”

He drew a deep breath. “We’ll be in touch. You’re exhausted and in mourning, and ain’t in the right frame of mind to make these kinds of decisions.”

Arthur shook his head before patting him on his shoulder. “Take care, Dutch.”

And with that, Arthur turned away from him and went back inside the house to help Charles take their things to the car.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy friends! So there are probably three or four more chapters left of this fic! Thanks for sticking around for so long! <3


	14. The Fine Art of Conversation

Arthur watched John through the rearview mirror with narrowed eyes. He could hear the heavy metal music blasting from the rental car’s radio over his own. A deep crease formed between his eyebrows as he continued to stare hard at his brother. It was certainly obnoxious, but Arthur was also convinced that the man either had zero common sense, or just flat out didn't care about any repercussions whatsoever, and the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if it was a combination of both. Even as kids, John never seemed to care about natural consequences until he was standing face to face with them. 

“So much for staying low,” Arthur muttered as he removed his scarf. While the air had a mild bite, it was still too warm for his liking to be wearing the garment.

“We’ll be fine,” Charles reassured. “Light’s green.”

His eyes returned to the road as he shook his head. “Don’t know how or why he listens to that junk.”

“I’m sure it’s the same reason why you choose to listen to Johnny Cash among other things,” 

He snorted. “Except Johnny Cash ain’t junk.”

“I hate to break it to you, Arthur, but there are plenty of people who would say otherwise.” Charles countered with a grin.

“And those people ain’t got any taste for good music,”

Charles simply shook his head and decided to change the subject. “I know you told us back at the lake house, but where are we meeting Albert, again?”

“Some French bistro in Westchester. He likes hole-in-the-wall places, but knows what the good ones are.” 

“I think I see it over there, isn’t that Albert?” 

Arthur looked over in the direction Charles had pointed to see Albert standing on a street corner in front of a small restaurant. He was on his phone, and Arthur couldn’t help but notice that Albert had paired a vest with the green flannel he’d given him. “That’s him.”

Of course, John’s music had caught his attention, and once Albert recognized his own vehicle, he waved. Charles returned the wave as they parked along the curb with John in tow. As soon as Arthur stepped onto the sidewalk, Albert reached him in only a few strides and pulled him into a tight hug. Arthur was thankful that the photographer had opted for wrapping his arms around his shoulders rather than his sides as he returned the embrace. When Albert pulled away, he cradled his face as he looked him over. His expression grew tight as he noted the exhaustion in Arthur's eyes. The man looked worn to the bone, and Albert wished he could take his sorrow away.

Arthur gently pulled his hands away from his face and gestured to John who had walked over. "Albert, this is the infamous John Marston," he said in a low voice, "but he goes by Jim Milton these days."

"It's a pleasure," Albert said as he shook his calloused hand that was surprisingly rougher than Arthur's. "Albert Mason,"

John grinned, and even Albert could see the mischievous glint in his eye. "So you're the one who's managed to sweep my brother off his feet!"

"I, well, I suppose you could say that," he stammered as a flush crept into his cheeks.

Arthur smacked his shoulder with the back of his hand, which only made John's grin turn into a smirk. 

"Shall we go inside and get a table?" Albert suggested. 

"You three go ahead, I'm gonna have a smoke out here and then find you all," Arthur said as he leaned against the brick wall of the building. He was already tapping a cigarette out from a carton he'd pulled from his jacket when Albert considered protesting. The man hadn't smoked in a long while, and in his gut, he knew that Arthur was only pulling one out now as a coping mechanism. Or at least that's how it appeared to the photographer. But when Charles and John said nothing, Albert reluctantly held his tongue and lead the way inside.

Arthur gave the cigarette a few puffs as he lit the end and took a long drag on it, feeling the familiar scratch against his throat. There was a sense of relaxation he felt for the first time in the last two days as the nicotine worked its way into his system. He closed his eyes, exhaled the smoke, and took another drag. As he leaned against the wall, he listened to the bustle around him. It was a busy corner in the town, but somehow the static was comfortable. It ebbed and flowed as people passed, rhythmic and calming. 

Until the rev of an engine and backfire from an exhaust pipe ripped him away from the peaceful moment.

Arthur's eyes flew open and it took no time at all to find the source of the noise. He recognized the old mustang immediately and swore under his breath as Micah stepped out of the car. He took one last deep breath of the cigarette before stubbing it underneath his boot as the man walked over to him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He spat.

Micah placed a hand over his heart as he feigned a look of hurt. "No hello? No howdy or casual conversation starter? I'm hurt, Morgan."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. He didn’t trust a single inch of the man, and seeing him now had him on edge. He believed he had every reason to be skeptical of Micah’s arrival. "Fine, here's my conversation starter. Why did you follow us?"

"Oh please, I didn't _follow_ you! The three of you talk so damn loud I couldn't help but overhear where you all were going." 

"That still don't answer my question! Eavesdropping or not, you still followed us here."

Out of the corner of Arthur’s eye, he saw the restaurant’s door open. However, he didn’t pay much attention to it until he heard an all too familiar voice speak up.

"We have a table out on the patio, it's toward the back," Albert told him.

Arthur felt his stomach turn as Micah's predatory gaze fell on Albert, the smirk carved into his face revealing a canine. "Who's this, Arthur?"

Albert looked over at Micah as if he hadn’t noticed the man’s presence until now. “Oh! I’m sorry, please forgive me for being so rude. I’m—” 

“He’s nobody,” Arthur interrupted forcefully as his heart pounded in his chest. One of his fears was becoming a reality in front of his own eyes, and he only wished he had the energy to adequately deal with the situation at hand.

Micah tsked. “Come now, Arthur, that’s no way to introduce your friends!”

“I don’t give a shit, now tell me why you’re here!”

He rolled his eyes. “Well if that’s the way it is, I found this on the front porch after you left.” 

Arthur tensed as he watched Micah dig for something in his jacket pocket, and he felt his heart drop to the pavement when he recognized the journal in his hand as his own. He’d been so wrapped up in John’s arrival that he hadn’t thought twice about all the things he’d left on the porch, and Micah had been there when they’d returned from their walk. Of course he would have ‘found’ it, and Arthur couldn’t help but assume it had been intentional.

“I wanted to be a good person and return it to you, consider it as my way of making up for that incident with the dealer. You’re hardly ever without it, and I just _knew_ you’d miss it.”

 Arthur glared at him. Micah was already aggravating enough, which made the mask of false kindness he wore all the more infuriating. It made his blood boil and his fists clenched at his side. As he ripped the journal from his hand, Arthur wanted to ask if he’d dared to read any of it, but he knew better. The man before him lied as often as he breathed and stuck his nose in places where it didn’t belong like it was his job. As much as Arthur despised the thought, there was no doubt in his mind that Micah had read at least a few pages, and he desperately hoped he hadn’t read anything about Albert. The only ounce of comfort he found in the situation was that he hadn’t written anything about John’s whereabouts. While Arthur didn’t see himself as a smart man, he certainly wasn’t stupid.

Micah’s smirk was still plastered on his face, lifting the corners of his mustache with it. “What? I come all this way to give that piece of crap back to you and this is the thanks I get? A glare?”

“You poor thing,” Arthur retorted, his voice laced with venom.

“So, I take it I’m not welcomed to this reunion?”

“ _No_ ,”

“Well, it was worth a try. Oh, and by the way, you’ve got a lil’ something on your neck.” he snickered.

“Get outta my sight!” Arthur snarled. He'd had enough.

“I don’t know what you see in that man, Mr. Mason, I really don’t,” Micah said as he walked away.

Arthur stared him down until he’d driven out of his line of sight. With a sigh, his bristly exterior crumbled away. Albert didn’t think the man could look even more exhausted than he already was. Whoever that man was had clearly rubbed Arthur the wrong way.

Albert furrowed his brow. No, that didn’t quite describe the hostility between the two men. Not even Albert had drained Arthur’s patience all those weeks ago as the blond-haired stranger had just now. Although as he glanced at Arthur, he was given no explanation as the man turned away to enter the restaurant without another word. However, Albert grabbed his arm before he could, and he was surprised by his own strength when he was able to pull Arthur back toward him. 

The unexpected tug caused Arthur’s eyebrows to pull together as he shot Albert a questioning look. “What?”

“Can you explain to me what just happened? Should I be concerned that whoever that was knew my name? How did he know my name, Arthur?” Albert knew that he had asked Arthur several loaded questions, but he wanted to know the truth. They were a team, and now that he knew most of Arthur’s past, Albert was convinced that there was no reason for him to dodge his questions.

His lips pressed together in a thin line as he looked away. How was he supposed to tell Albert that it was his fault? That his carelessness had led to Micah discovering his journal and reading who the hell knows what? But Albert deserved to know, didn’t he? The photographer was so open with him, and Arthur couldn’t help but feel guilty that his transparency wasn’t always reciprocated. 

Albert could see the inner turmoil in Arthur’s blue eyes, and he gently took his hand and gave it a light squeeze. “Arthur, you know the truth, whatever it is, won’t change anything between us, right?”

“I...he’s no one. Just a no-good bastard who I hope I’ll never see again. Who he is really doesn't need to be any concern of yours.”

He frowned. “But it does concern me. He knows my name.”

Arthur muttered under his breath as he pulled his hand away. “Fine! His name’s Micah Bell! You happy now?” 

Albert flinched. It had been a while since Arthur had raised his voice towards him, and judging by the immediate shift in his expression, Arthur recognized how he’d taken his anger out on him.

“Al, I—”

Before Arthur could finish his apology, John pushed open the restaurant door and walked over to them. “Is everything alright? Waiter’s been ‘round twice, and I _know_ a smoke don’t take that long.” 

“We had a visitor,” Albert replied.

John quirked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Micah Bell, to be precise,”

John’s gaze quickly shifted to Arthur. “How the fuck—did he follow us?”

“Yes and no, the snake was listenin’ to our conversation back at the house,” he replied. 

“Shit, are you all alright?” 

“As alright as we can be,” Arthur sighed.

“Come on, then. You ain’t eaten all day and the waiter's gettin’ pissy.”

They followed John inside where they joined Charles at a round table. While Albert and Arthur sat next to each other, Albert couldn’t help but notice how distant the man suddenly felt. Sure, a despondent Arthur was nothing new, but this was different. It reminded him of when Arthur had tried shutting him out after they’d first kissed at the bar. While it occurred to him that this tendency of Arthur’s might have been a backwards defense mechanism, the thought didn’t ease any of the hurt it caused. 

Of course, Arthur wasn’t oblivious to this. Judging by how quiet the photographer had gotten, he had no doubt that his brief angry outburst had caused some damage, and as he fidgeted with his napkin, he wondered if he’d be able to repair it. Albert was incredibly forgiving in nature, but surely even he had a limit. 

As the waiter retrieved their payment, Arthur scrounged his mind for possible apologies and for ways to broach the questions he had so quickly dismissed earlier. He figured he could ride back with Albert while Charles accompanied John. It would certainly give them both the time and space needed to clear the air between them.

Yet as they exited the restaurant, John placed his hand on Arthur’s shoulder before he could suggest the idea. He tensed underneath his touch, knowing his plans had become chaff in the wind. 

“Why don’t the two of you take the Fit while Arthur rides with me? We haven’t really been able to catch up yet.” 

“Sure thing, John,” Charles said before he joined Albert in his car.

Arthur sighed as he followed John to his rental car and took his place in the passenger seat. “Now I don’t wanna hear any of that metal shit, understand?” 

John snorted. “As long as you don’t play any Johnny _Trash_ or John _Whatever_ , we have a deal.”

“Them’s fightin’ words,” he threatened, although his smirk betrayed his tone.

“Interestin’ how they both have the name ‘John’, have you ever noticed that?” John grinned. “It’s like you actually think fondly of me or somethin’.”

“Would you shut it!”

He laughed despite the elbow that dug into his ribs and he repaid the jab with a swat to Arthur’s shoulder. “I’ve missed this, y’know? Just the two of us horsing around like old times.”

Arthur sighed. “I know, ‘cept there’s nothing we can do to get that back. Feels like all that died right along with Hosea.”

“Maybe, maybe not, but s’pose I get what you mean,”

“So what is it you want to talk about?”

“Pardon?” 

He groaned. “Don’t act stupid, I _know_ you wanted to talk to me about somethin’.” 

John was quiet as they stopped at a red light, his hand idly stroking his beard as he stared at nothing in particular. As the light turned green, he glanced at Arthur before taking a left to continue following the small white car in front of them.

“I remember how you were when...when that awful thing happened to Eliza and Isaac.”

“Don’t—”

“You can’t distance yourself this time, Arthur. I now understand how hard it is, or at least I think I do, but you have too many good things in front of you,” he gestured to the car in front of them, “literally, to pull that shit. I love you too damn much to watch you do that to people who don’t _have_ to stick around even when you’re an asshole. I had no choice then. I was only sixteen, and of course Dutch and Hosea, well, back then they refused to give up on either of us despite the shit we pulled.”

He eyed him before his gaze shifted to the buildings that passed by them. “That’s easier said than done, John,”

“I know, but I also know that it’s only gonna hurt worse if you leave Albert and Charles no choice _but_ to leave you. Sure, the cost of love might be watching someone die, but ain’t it better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?”

Arthur snorted. “Did you stick your head into some of Dutch’s philosophy books or somethin’? It’s like your brain's been finally knocked back into that skull of yours for the first time in years!” 

“Fuck Dutch’s books,” he huffed, “this is different. What I’m sayin’ actually makes sense, and you know I’m right.”

“Sure,” he said, “so I take it this grandiose speech of yours means that you approve of Al?”

“Yeah, I do. He’s a nice guy.”

Arthur sighed. “That he is, I just hope I haven’t screwed anything up with him.”

“From what I’ve gathered, he’s more resilient than you think,”

“You have no idea,” he mused. “That man has nearly killed himself several times.”

John furrowed his brow. “Care to explain that one?”

As they continued to follow Albert, Arthur took the time to explain his recent adventures with the photographer and how he had saved his life a few times. 

“Sounds like he ain’t a lucky man,” John chuckled as he parked along the street.

“You would think that’s the case, but somehow he always manages to get out of trouble.” 

“I’m glad you’ve got someone, romantically, anyway,” John said as he watched Albert get out of his car. “He seems to really care about you.”

Arthur watched as the photographer laughed at something Charles had said, and a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth at the sight. “Yeah, it’s only been a week and I can’t imagine life without him.”

“You fall hard and fast, Arthur Morgan. Always have.” 

“Let’s just hope this one actually lasts,” he replied as he stepped out of the vehicle. 

John rolled his eyes as he followed suit. “Would it kill you to be optimistic for once?”

“It might,” he chuckled. 

As they entered the apartment, Albert found it odd to have so many people in it at once. Although he didn't mind it. It was, if anything, refreshing to have so many guests at once. He truly enjoyed Charles' company, and while he hadn't known John for long, it felt like the two of them had been friends for a while. Every so often he'd catch a glimpse of Arthur in the man's mannerisms. It was sweet, really. While Arthur and John looked nothing alike, and were the farthest thing from being related in blood, their relationship was still stronger than most bonds he'd seen between actual brothers. 

After everyone was settled, Charles withdrew two decks of cards from his bag and sat down on a pillow he'd placed beside the coffee table. "Anyone down for a game of Three-Thirteen while John waits for his flight?"

John took a seat beside him, a wide smile on his face. “Hell yeah! It’s been too long since I’ve beaten you fools at that game!”

“I’m afraid I don’t know that one,” Albert replied as Charles shuffled and dealt the cards.

“It’s real simple and easy,” Arthur said. “I’ll help you out the first few rounds.”

Albert thanked him and listened as Charles explained the rules. It sounded similar to Rummy, and he was able to catch on quicker than he expected. When there was a lull in the conversation, Albert played his hand, winning that round, which led to a chorus of groans from the other three men. 

“Can someone tell me why we let him play?”John jested as he collected the cards to shuffle them once everyone had finished their turn.

“As long as he gives _you_ a run for your money, I don’t care how many times he goes out,” Arthur replied.

“Of course, get your boyfriend to beat me since neither of you can do it yourselves,”

Arthur rolled his eyes as Albert laughed. “Sure, John, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but were the three of you, at the very  least, able to catch up with some of the people you get along with during your visit? I know the last few days have been crazy, but surely you were able to squeeze in some sort of quality time.” Albert asked. He had wanted to ask earlier, but it had occurred to him that the restaurant wasn’t the best place for conversation topics related to their gang, and judging by the looks the three men exchanged now, he’d made the right call. Albert hadn’t realized his question had been a loaded one, and it was finally Arthur who spoke up after shifting his weight on the couch beside him.

“Not really, the gang ain’t quite the same no more,”

Albert’s brow furrowed in sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that,”

“Me too,” he then gave Albert a thorough once over-look. “Are you sure that agent didn’t do anything to you? I swear if he even so much as laid a finger on you I—”

“Arthur, I’m fine. He just asked a few questions.”

He looked him over once more, not fully convinced as what-if scenarios plagued his mind. Albert could have been threatened, even hurt, and the worst part was that Arthur hadn’t been there for him. Just as he hadn’t been there for Hosea, and the thought was like a kick from a horse. 

Arthur quickly shifted his gaze to the cards he’d been dealt in an attempt to conceal the sudden surge of emotion that his eyes undoubtedly revealed. His exhaustion had made it difficult to hide what he was feeling, and by the time they started a new game (John had somehow managed to win by only a few points), it was nearly impossible to keep his eyes open. Arthur ran a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes before looking at his hand of cards, blinking several times as he tried to focus on the blurring numbers and letters. They were getting harder to read as the evening light faded away, and he jumped when he felt Albert lay a hand on his arm.

“Why don’t you get some sleep? You look utterly exhausted.”

“Thanks,” Arthur replied with a snort. 

Albert rolled his eyes. “I’m serious, and besides, you won’t get very far if you can hardly read what’s in your hand.” 

“I agree. I’ll even haul your ass to bed myself if I have to.” Charles added. 

Arthur muttered under his breath as he tossed his cards onto the table. He knew Charles meant every word he'd said, and that he had no issue backing them. Arthur had been hauled out of bars by his friend on more than one occasion to either keep him from fights or because he was too intoxicated to walk on his own two feet. His build may have been broad and dense with muscle, but it was nothing compared to the strength Charles had. After grumbling out a g’night and giving John one last hug, Arthur shuffled off to the sleeping alcove and pulled the curtain over behind him.

Albert was relieved that he’d given in to their request. While he’d used the adjective, exhausted didn’t even begin to describe how Arthur looked. His eyes had looked heavy enough to sink ships and he had grown quiet, only responding with grunts for the last fifteen minutes. It genuinely concerned him. He’d never seen the man quite that drained before, and he hoped Arthur would be able to get the sleep he so desperately needed.

They continued playing a while longer, their conversation continuing in quieter tones so as not to wake Arthur. As John shuffled for the next round, he glanced at the alcove before looking over at Albert. 

“I ain’t gonna lie to you, Mr. Mason—”

“Please, call me Albert,”

“Albert,” he repeated as his hands idly shuffled the two decks of cards, “Arthur’s mind can find itself in some dark places when something like this happens. This ain’t the first time Arthur has experienced a loss like this, but I’m afraid he may not be able to pull himself up from this one.”

The silence that filled the room was heavy, and for a while, the only things that filled the silence were the shuffling of cards and the radiator coming to life. Albert looked down at his hands as John’s words sunk in. Would he be able to be there for Arthur? To provide the support he would need? He wasn’t sure.

Charles shook his head before he finally interrupted the quiet. “From what I understand, Arthur didn’t get back on his feet by himself last time, either. It took you, Dutch, Hosea, and Grimshaw. He wasn’t alone then, and he’s certainly not alone now. It’ll take longer for this wound to scab over for sure, but he has us to help. We’re going to look after him, John.”

John nodded, his lips forming a tight somber line. “I guess what I’m trying to say is don’t take it personally if he’s snappy or stand-offish. And it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on how much he drinks and smokes.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep a close eye on him. He’s stubborn, but he’s in good hands.” 

Albert smiled, thankful that Charles had just the right words to reassure the young man. 

It was about an hour later when John left to catch his flight, and after Albert helped make sure that Charles was comfortable on the couch with enough pillows and blankets, he slipped past the curtain and readied himself for bed. When he turned to observe Arthur, a small smile spread across his face. The man was sound asleep, his chest slowly rising and falling with each breath. He looked more peaceful than he had since Charles had broken the news to him. Albert sat on the edge of the bed and tenderly ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair to brush the sandy strands out of his face before sliding in beside Arthur, doing his best not to wake him and to make his movements as smooth as possible. 

However, being the light sleeper that he was, Arthur stirred anyway and wrapped his arms around Albert’s waist. He pulled him close and tucked his head underneath Albert’s chin and sighed. Albert wrapped his arms around him, careful to avoid his bruises as he pressed his lips against his forehead. 

“Al?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry for snapping earlier, I never did get to finish my apology.”

“I forgive you, Arthur. How are you doing?” He asked gently.

Another sigh. “About as good as I can, I guess,”

Albert shifted his hand to run his long fingers through his hair. It was a tangled mess, and the photographer wondered if he'd brushed it at all since the morning he’d left. “Would you like to talk about him?”

There was a moment of hesitation before he felt Arthur nod.

“What’s one thing you and Hosea loved to do?” 

He was quiet as he thought it over, his eyes closing as the feeling of Albert’s fingers toying with his hair soothed him. “Fishing was always a go-to, we’d start the morning with a strong cup of coffee and then head out to the closest body of water.”

“Maybe we should go fishing when we go back to Alaska, in his memory. I’ve never been.” 

Arthur opened his eyes as he pulled his head out from under Albert’s and studied him with eyebrows drawn. He might’ve been dead tired, but he was quick to catch the ‘we’ that Albert had used. “Don’t you gotta stay in New York? What about your job?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” he smiled, “I had a client commission me for some nature shots for them to use for their business, and what better place is there for them than Alaska?”

Arthur was stunned, and he blinked a few times before he found his words again. “And then what?”

Albert shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I have found that I oddly miss it.”

For the first time that day, he saw Arthur smile. It was a sight for sore eyes and had Albert's heart feeling full as it stumbled over its own rhythm, and with a smile, he gave Arthur a brief kiss before closing his eyes.

“Get some rest, Arthur, you need it,”

Arthur only smiled wider as he rested his forehead against the photographer’s, and his heavy eyelids slid closed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a late update, but work is starting to ramp up again. Between that and yeehawgust, the next few chapters will probably take longer to finish up for that reason. But I'll definitely be active on Tumblr! Feel free to stop by and say howdy! :) I go by snikt-snack
> 
> Also, since this fic IS wrapping up soon, if there's something that hasn't been included yet in this fic that you'd like to see (or something in another fic entirely) feel free to message me and I'll see what I can do! No promises though <3
> 
> Much love to you all <3


	15. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! Just wanted to give a quick head up that this chapter has some more implied sexual content near the end. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and sticking around this long!

Arthur stared at his cup of coffee and watched the wisps of steam dance and dissipate into the air. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, still feeling groggy from sleeping for so long. It had been a while since he’d had a restful night's sleep, and he felt it. Sluggish didn’t quite describe it, but Arthur didn’t have the wherewithal to think of a better word. 

His eyes scanned the room as his brow furrowed. He’d noticed Albert and Charles’ absence when he’d initially woken up, but it was only now that it dawned on him that he had no idea where they’d gone. When he scanned the kitchen a second time, his eyes caught a note that had been pinned to the fridge with a magnet. Arthur rose to his feet, picked up the readers on the end table by the couch, and went over to read the note. While it didn’t have a name on it, the neatly printed words were distinctly Albert’s handwriting. 

 

_Charles and I are getting some bagels for brunch. I know a bagel run isn’t exactly exploring or hunting, but I’m leaving a note anyway as you told me to all those weeks ago at the hospital. But mostly because you don’t have a phone. =) Hope you’ve slept well!_

 

He chuckled to himself as he took a seat at the bistro table once again. Arthur took a sip of his coffee as he reread the note. Albert was a quick learner and could be incredibly cheeky when he wanted to. It was oddly charming, and Arthur decided to write in his journal as he waited for them to return. 

Arthur had written almost two pages when he paused. Rereading his written words about how he’d told Dutch he was through with the gang had him second-guessing himself. He no longer wanted to be affiliated with the Van der Lind gang, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he should’ve waited to voice his decision. He had certainly lacked tact when breaking the news to Dutch, and part of him regretted how openly bitter he’d been towards the man. Dutch and Hosea had been incredibly close. Sure, Bessie had been in the picture for a while, but the two men had always been inseparable. Dutch was surely grieving in his own way, just as Arthur was, and he wondered if he should’ve had more patience with the man.

Then again, when Hosea’s life had depended on it, Dutch hadn’t been there for him. Hosea had _always_ been there for Dutch, and the thought had Arthur’s anger bubbling to the surface once again.

How could Dutch let Hosea die right underneath his nose?

Arthur’s brow furrowed as a heaviness settled in his chest, his anger melting away into despair. Not even Hosea’s level head had been enough to keep Dutch grounded anymore. In the past, he’d been the only one able to talk sense into him. The only one with the gall to call out his foolish plans when necessary. If Dutch had stopped listening to the one man he loved more than anything, what did that imply about the condition of his mind? Was Dutch losing it? Or was his love for Hosea just another one of his acts? 

No, Arthur thought. Dutch had most definitely loved Hosea once and true, and as much as he hated to admit it, the man who he used to see as a pillar of strength was becoming no more than a mere shadow. 

Arthur was more than grateful for the sound of a key sliding into the lock on the door, and he looked up from his journal to find Albert and Charles entering the apartment with a brown paper bag. 

“Afternoon, sleeping beauty,” Charles grinned as he set the bag on the kitchen counter. “Nice bedhead.”

Arthur forced a smile as he used his hand to smooth his hair. “Is it past twelve already?” 

“Twelve forty-five to be exact,” Charles replied.

He checked his watch to find that Charles was right, and it crossed his mind that he’d wasted a good chunk of time sleeping in.

“You needed the rest, though, which is why we let you sleep in,” Albert added as if he could read his thoughts.

“We also brought you back something cheesy with meat, and if that doesn’t sound like something you want, there are others in the bag.”

“Thanks, Charles, you mind tossin’ me that one?”

His friend threw a bagel wrapped in brown paper that Arthur easily caught, and it wasn’t until he caught a whiff of the ham and cheese through the wrapping that he realized how hungry he was. As if the pangs of hunger weren’t enough evidence that he hadn’t eaten much the last few days, his stomach voiced how empty it was with a feral growl. As he unwrapped the bagel and took a large bite, Albert grabbed one from the bag and took a seat beside him.

Arthur ate his in no time, and as he rose to his feet to help himself to a second bagel, there was a gentle knock on the door. All three of them tensed, and Arthur looked over his shoulder at Albert.

“Are you expecting anyone?”

Albert shook his head, his eyes wide with fear. “I—I told him you had gone back to Alaska. What if it’s the agent and he finds out I lied and—”

Arthur cut him off by gently shushing him and holding up a hand. As much as he dreaded who may have been behind the door, all three of them had to keep a cool head, and the more Albert stammered, the greater the chance was that the unexpected visitor would hear him. He tried offering Albert a small smile despite his fear to try and calm the photographer.

“Let’s first find out who it is, _then_ we’ll worry about that, alright?” He whispered.

Albert only nodded, unaware that the two men already had their hands hovering over the pocket knives they kept on them, ready for the worst. Yet when he looked through the peephole, he was surprised to find that he knew the man on the other side and he opened the door without a second thought.

“Well look who it is!” Arthur grinned as he greeted Javier. “Come on in! We even have a few bagels to spare if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks, Arthur,” he said as he stepped inside. “It’s good to see you. We didn’t really get a chance to talk much the last two days.”

“No, we didn’t. A lot was goin’ on,” 

Charles shot Arthur a skeptical look that went over his head before his eyes scanned Javier. He was beyond leery of the man’s presence. Unlike Arthur, he’d had the chance to speak with Javier, and the man had changed.

“How did you find this place, Javier?” Charles asked with narrowed eyes as his arms folded across his broad chest. 

The man paused as he looked over at Charles, the inquiry causing his disposition to become less friendly. “Dutch ran the plates of the car you two were driving and sent me here to talk to both of you,” he turned to Arthur, “is it true you’re through with the gang?”

Arthur hesitated as his smile fell. It became clear to him at that moment why Javier was there. He wasn’t there to catch up, and he certainly hadn’t cared enough to entertain any kind of small talk. Arthur had considered Javier a good friend, yet it was now plain to him that Javier cared more about loyalty to Dutch than their friendship.

“Yeah, it is.” He said, his tone firm and final.

Javier frowned and shook his head. “Would you think this through, Arthur? You of all people should know how much Dutch has done for you. He even saved your life, for chrissake! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Arthur felt his anger ignite. He’d already been irked that Dutch had the gall to stalk where he was staying. To find that he’d send someone like Javier to convince him to rethink his decision was only fuel to the fire, and any doubts he had earlier that morning about leaving the gang vanished in an instant. “If Dutch hadn’t agreed to that dumbass parley in the first place _none_ of that shit in Richmond would’ve happened! Dutch hasn’t done _shit_ for us. It was always _Hosea._ The only thing Dutch has cared about since moving east has been his legacy!” 

The two men glared at each other, and Albert nervously watched the three of them. The air was thick with tension, nearly suffocatingly thick, and it compelled the photographer to unlock his phone to type in the numbers 9-1-1 in case something were to happen.

It was Javier who finally broke the silence with a sigh. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Arthur.”

“And I’m sorry you’re as dumb as Bill is,”

He tsked. “I thought you were better than this, but I guess it’s true. You’re undermining us all just when it matters the most.”

“You sound like Micah,” Arthur scowled.

“And you sound like an arrogant son of a bitch,” Javier retorted. “You two are making a mistake. Dutch deserves your loyalty, both of you, now more than ever.”

“We’ve made our choice, Javier. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Charles said. 

Arthur opened the door as the man shook his head before leaving with a huff. A heavy silence followed as he closed the door after him. Albert breathed out a sigh of relief and cleared the three numbers he’d typed. He studied Arthur for a moment as he scratched his arm, unsure of what to say. The moment of quiet in the room felt like an eternity.

“You left your gang? For good?” He finally asked. The news was too good to be true, and Albert had to confirm, for his sanity, that he had understood the exchange between the three men correctly.

Arthur nodded as he massaged the bridge of his nose. “I’m tired of following lies and being lied to.”

“That decision couldn’t have been easy, but I’m proud of you.”

He looked up to meet Albert’s sincere eyes, and he couldn’t help but smile as his heart felt full from hearing those four affirming words. “Thank you, Al.”

“I hate to be that one person, but since Dutch knows where we are, we need to leave either today or tomorrow morning. I don’t trust his sanity as of late.” Charles said. 

“Neither do I,” Arthur said. “Al, do you mind looking up tickets for the three of us?”

Charles quirked an eyebrow and looked over at Albert. “You’re coming with us?” 

He nodded. “That I am! I had a client commission me for some photos, and Cairn is the best place I think of for just the right shots. Sure, I could go upstate, but the scenery up there isn’t nearly as beautiful as what can be found in Alaska, and it would certainly be without the company I thoroughly enjoy.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Charles replied with a smile.

After looking at several different airlines, Albert was able to find a flight that left a little after eleven that night with only one layover in Los Angeles that would last for three hours. While the layover would be a pain, it was agreed that it was their best option, and the three of them decided to spend the rest of the afternoon packing and chatting before heading out to get an early dinner. They ate somewhere afterwards and were settled at their gate an hour before their flight left. 

As they waited in the uncomfortable chairs that were too small for all of them, Albert pulled out his laptop. Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his seat and cast a glance at Albert’s screen. It appeared to be an email he was responding to, and Arthur decided to close his eyes, slumping down in his seat and folding his arms across his chest. It wasn’t long after doing so that he felt Albert rest his head against his shoulder. His lips curved up into a smile. 

It was almost a dream come true that Albert was going back with him to Alaska, and while he feared it wouldn’t be a permanent thing, he forced himself not to think about that right now. Right now, Albert was beside him, and for now, that was all that mattered. 

 

Arthur was more than grateful to be driving his truck again. As old and run of the mill as it was, he still loved the way it drove and handled the snow which had only seemed to double since he’d last been in Alaska. While driving down the main street of Cairn, Charles had mentioned how the snow on the ground had increased in the last few days. 

He glanced at Albert in the rearview mirror who had insisted on sitting in the back seat due to his slightly smaller stature. Arthur wasn’t sure if Albert was going to get the photos he intended on taking. Unless one had the knowhow, it was unsafe to go to many places in this weather. Even if he went with Albert, one man injured in weather this fierce was sometimes enough to hurt another. It had Arthur wondering just how long the photographer would stay, or if he would regret his decision to come at all.

Arthur returned his eyes to the road and forced the thought out of his mind and instead tried to remind himself how Albert consistently insisted how much he cared about him. To think otherwise would be doubting one of the few people he trusted deeply. Arthur was through assuming the worst scenarios would eventually come to fruition, and while it would most likely take years to retrain his thought patterns, he was determined to at least try. 

As Albert and Charles chatted, Arthur’s mind wandered to Dutch. There was no doubt Javier had relayed the news by now, and he wondered how the man would take it. The gang leader was already becoming unhinged, and between Hosea’s passing and Arthur’s disengagement, it was a question on his mind as to whether or not Dutch would be able to keep it together. What once was had unraveled, and Dutch only had manipulators and men yearning for ideals they could believe in by his side, and it was obvious how it had left the gang leader feeling empty.

He glanced at Charles and Albert, suddenly overwhelmed by his gratitude for them. They were two people he knew he could count on, and of course, there was also the Marstons. While losing Hosea had hit Arthur hard, he hadn’t lost everything. Not like Dutch had. There was still something in his life that gave him hope. He brought a fist up to his face, resting his elbow on the door as he tried to reel in his emotions as they threatened to spill over.

Charles seemed to notice, and he gave Arthur’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, are you alright?” 

He only nodded, fearing that if he spoke his voice would betray what he wanted to say. Of course, he knew his two companions weren’t convinced, but Arthur didn’t want to talk about it.

It only took twenty minutes to get to Charles’ house, and Arthur got out with his friend to open the trunk for him. 

“Please don’t hesitate to call me on Albert’s phone if you need anything,” Charles said as he grabbed his bag. “Even if you just need an ear to listen.”

Arthur nodded and pulled Charles into a hug. “Thanks, Charles, for everything. I’m glad I had you there with me at the hospital.”

Charles gave him a squeeze. “Sure Arthur, anything for you.”

Arthur took his place behind the wheel again and beeped twice before waving as Charles unlocked his door. After Albert jumped into the passenger seat (albeit clumsily and not without some teasing and a little help from Arthur), they headed out towards Arthur’s house. 

They pulled into the driveway, and Albert waited for Arthur to exit the car first before opening his own door. Arthur, however, seemed to hesitate as he sized up his house.

He was relieved to find that it looked untouched as he and Charles had left it the last time he was there. The door was still securely shut and its frame fully intact. With a sigh, he pulled his jacket closed and turned off the car before stepping out into the cold. 

It had been a while since he’d last felt the crunch of snow beneath his feet as he trudged through several feet of it to the trunk, and he was thankful Albert had been on his crutches before the wintry weather had settled in for its lengthy stay. 

Yet while Albert was no longer on crutches, he still stumbled in the thick snow as he exited the truck. The cold chilled him to the bone, and he tried rubbing some warmth into his arms as he joined Arthur by the truck bed to grab his two bags. 

When they entered the house, Arthur scratched the back of his neck as he shut the door after Albert. “Welcome to my, uh, humble abode. It’s not the warmest of places, but it does the job.”

“Nonsense!” Albert insisted. “It’s lovely all the same.”

He raised an eyebrow as he stared at Albert before scanning the living room of his house. It was neat but mostly bare. Other than a couch, an outdated Tv, and several shelves filled with miscellaneous items, there wasn’t much to his home. It had the look of someone who’d just moved in a month ago as there were still two boxes sealed with packing tape in one corner. He’d never thought of the cabin as home, and thus wasn’t compelled to make it feel like something that it wasn’t.

Then again, not once in his life had Arthur found a place that felt like home. If anything, he preferred sticking with people rather than places. Albert felt like home, and Hosea had too.

Without warning, his chest tightened as he was reminded of Hosea’s absence. Clearing his throat, he took Albert’s bags and decided to take their things to his bedroom. It was a sad attempt to preoccupy himself before his grief tipped him over an edge that would take all day and night to overcome, but he was thankful that it worked regardless.

Albert thanked him and briefly observed what little he had displayed in the living room. With no fire in the wood-burning stove, the air was bitingly cold. He cupped his hands around his mouth as he tried to warm them, and the sight made Arthur chuckle as he returned.

“You regretting coming back to Alaska yet?”

“Never,” Albert replied. “I’m sure once we get a fire going, this place will heat right up.”

Arthur flashed him a crooked smile, although the photographer noticed the brief glimpse of wistfulness in his eyes. Albert watched him as he set to work reawakening the lifeless stove. The charred wood logs eventually caught fire and Arthur spread out a few blankets on the floor. He took a seat in front of the stove and patted the space next to him.

“Why don’t you come over and warm up a little? You look like you’re about to freeze.”

“Thank you,” Albert said as he complied, “although I’m well aware of what freezing feels like, and this feels like a mild spring day compared to that!” 

He chuckled as he wrapped one of his larger blankets around both of them. “I don’t doubt that.”

He smiled as he leaned into him, pillowing his head against his shoulder. The flames were hypnotizing as they licked at the logs, dancing this way and that as their warmth radiated from the stove. It would’ve been easy to fall asleep there, surrounded by the warmth from the flames and the warmth that always seemed to roll off Arthur. Yet he didn’t want to. Albert wanted to stay awake to enjoy the moment despite how tired and jet-lagged he was. He hadn’t gotten much sleep on the plane, and neither had Arthur. They’d spent most of the flight watching free movies neither of them had seen and chatting. Although, Arthur must have felt the same. Once the house had warmed up, he rose to his feet and helped Albert up.

Arthur led him to his bedroom, and the photographer found it to be much cozier. Unlike the living room, Arthur had at least attempted to decorate the space. Above his bed was a rack of antlers and there were five photos pinned to the wall over a nightstand. While none of them had frames, they were well looked after and it was clear that each of them had sentimental value. One of them appeared to be of a Redbone Coonhound while two others were individual portraits of a man and a woman. In the third picture, a young woman and a child stood beside each other, and upon closer inspection, Albert realized that the last, which was the larger of the five, was of a young Arthur with two other men. 

Albert smiled to himself as he admired his youthful clean-shaven face and leaner build. He looked so young, yet so troubled, more troubled than he was now. At times, there was a sadness he caught behind Arthur’s eyes, whether at a glance or while talking with him, but it paled in comparison to the look he saw in Arthur’s younger self. It made Albert wonder what exactly had happened to him in the past.

“Who are the two men in this photo?” Albert asked.

“Hosea’s the one on the left and Dutch is on the right,” he said as he walked over to where he’d set down their bags.

Albert took a double-take of Hosea’s image before examining the younger Arthur in the photo once again. There was a resemblance between them, although Albert couldn't recall Arthur mentioning anything about having relatives in his gang.

“Were you and Hosea related at all?”

“No, my birth parents are the two portraits above that one.”

He looked up at the photo of the mustached gentleman, and the dead look in his eye made him swallow as his eyes flicked back to Arthur who was now unpacking his duffle bag. “Your father doesn’t look like a very happy fellow.”

“He wasn’t,”

“Wasn’t?”

Arthur shook his head. “He was given the death penalty when I was young, and I was eleven by the time he found his way to the chair.”

“I’m so sorry,”

His expression darkened and he scowled at nothing in particular. “Don’t be, he deserved it.”

Albert’s tongue felt like lead. He wasn’t sure how to respond to Arthur’s bitterness, and there was a part of him that didn’t want to know what had caused the strong resentment he’d never seen in Arthur up till now. 

“It was like he lost his mind once my mother passed,” Arthur continued, “I don’t remember much of her or when it happened, but I reckon my memory’s that way for a reason.”

“So, who are these two people?” Albert asked as he gestured to the photo of the young woman and the little boy. The boy couldn’t have been much older than four and there was a bright smile on his face that lit up his eyes. The woman was young, hardly twenty, and her dark hair framed her oval face.

 Arthur didn’t answer as he sat on the bed, and it was his silence that led to Albert connecting the dots.

“Oh…that’s…”

“Yeah, that’s them,” Arthur sighed before a sad chuckle fell from his lips, “All but two of those people are dead on that wall now. Kinda puts it into perspective just how many people I know have died. Shit, maybe I’m cursed.”

“Good heavens, you’re not cursed!” Albert insisted as he sat beside him. “Surely even you know how ridiculous that sounds.”

His eyes lowered to his hands, absentmindedly picking at a scab on his knuckle that Albert recognized from his fight at the bar. “I just can’t help thinkin’ somethin’ might happen to you,”

Albert’s heart broke as he caught a glimpse of the emotion swimming behind Arthur’s eyes. Yet he forced a smile and tilted Arthur’s face toward him. “Please, Arthur, if it weren’t for you, I would have been some poor creature’s bad meal back in Alaska. You’ve helped me more times than I can count, and I most certainly would’ve been a goner by now if I’d been left to my own devices.”

A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “You know, Charles and I had a bet goin’ on how long you’d last.”

He blinked. “You were betting on my survivability?”

“Not seriously,”

“And how long did you think I’d last?”

Arthur scratched the back of his neck. He instantly regretted mentioning his conversation with Charles, and he tried to come up with the right words to make Albert drop the subject. “It don’t matter, Al. Really, it was a stupid bet.”

“Arthur…” He said with a quirked eyebrow, his lips curving in a grin.

“I ain’t tellin’,”

Albert rolled his eyes and leaned forward to capture his lips in a kiss. A surprised noise sounded in the back of Arthur’s throat, but he was quick to recover as he relaxed into Albert’s touch. Even Albert’s assertive touches were tender as he forced Arthur to lie down on his back. The photographer lied down beside him, and just as Arthur had deepened the kiss, Albert parted from him to pepper kisses along his neck as he lightly ran his fingers down the side of Arthur's throat where they stopped just above his collarbone. 

"How many days did you give me?" Albert asked softly into his ear. Feeling Arthur's hair tickle his nose, it occurred to him that the man was most likely long overdue for a haircut. Although he did enjoy how the longer strands framed his face.

Arthur shivered underneath him but shook his head, determined not to give away the number. He felt guilty, almost embarrassed, for underestimating the photographer as much as he had. Yet, his reticence didn’t deter Albert as he tsked and untucked his flannel shirt to ease his hand underneath the fabric. His fingers traced his muscled torso and he grinned at the look on Arthur's face when his fingers found a sensitive patch of skin along his lower ribs. As Albert traced circles over the spot, Arthur took his bottom lip between his teeth and drew a sharp breath in through his nose. 

Arthur muttered under his breath. The photographer was almost too good at teasing information out of him, and it didn't help that both of them were stubborn as mules. He decided to give in, knowing Albert’s teasing wouldn’t let up until he had the truth. 

"Two days...I gave you two days, but that was when—”

Albert pulled his head away from his ear and laughed, and the reaction rendered him speechless. His eyebrows drew tightly together as he gave him a confused once-over look.

"You find that funny?"

"I do!" He said between bits of laughter.

"Why?"

"Well," he started as he caught his breath, "without your help, I suppose that would've been an astonishingly accurate guess."

Arthur smiled as he stroked his cheek with his knuckles, thankful for Albert’s gracious heart. "You're too kind to me, Al."

"Oh please, you deserve every ounce of it,"

"I really don't,"

"I don’t believe that,"

He sighed. " _Good_ men deserve kindness, not folk like me."

"Folk like you are trying to do their best with the lot they were given in life. You bear a lot of guilt on your shoulders, but you are a _wonderful_ man, Arthur Morgan. I insist."

Arthur looked away, clearly unconvinced, and it was painful for Albert to think about how he couldn't see his better qualities. His eyes lowered to Arthur’s partially unbuttoned shirt where he noticed the start of a scar. Curious, he unbuttoned Arthur’s shirt completely, helped Arthur out of it, and traced one of many scars that had first caught his attention. 

Arthur felt completely vulnerable underneath his focused gaze. The look in his hazel eyes cut right through him in a way that Arthur could only describe as intimate. It was a look Arthur usually saw when he’d inspected the photos on his camera, and to be on the other end of Albert’s intense stare did things to him that he couldn’t explain. 

Albert’s expression finally softened when he’d taken it all in. Of course, he’d seen his bare chest before but hadn’t taken the time to study the small nicks nor the remnants and ghosts of deeper wounds that had left their mark. 

“Oh, Arthur, there are so many scars,”

“Yeah, it’s a sorry sight ain’t it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he huffed, “do you remember how you got each one?”

“Maybe the bigger ones,” Arthur shrugged. “Why don’t you try me?” 

Albert smiled, an idea coming to mind as he kissed his way down Arthur's neck to the first scar just below his collarbone. Whether Arthur realized it or not, he was going to show that he loved Arthur, scars and all. He felt him shiver underneath as his lips hovered over the thin line of silver. “Let’s start with this one, shall we?”

“That one I’ve had since I was a kid, fell off my bike I think,”

He chuckled. “Is that how you got the scars on your chin?”

“No, those are from when John stole my journal and I tried running after him. Spoiled brat climbed up a tree. I grabbed the wrong branch and I tried pulling myself up, but it snapped and scratched me in the face. Of course, John was no help. He laughed his stupid ass off.”

They both smiled at Arthur’s memory, and Albert couldn’t resist kissing those scars too. As he pulled away, there was one in particular that caught his eye. It was indented into the skin on his shoulder and was both small and circular. After a brief moment, he recognized the mark and the blood drained from his face as his wide eyes flicked up to Arthur’s. 

“Is this…?”

“Yeah,” he said with a sheepish smile, “don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.”

Albert blinked. “You’ve been shot before?” 

“I have, and it hurt like hell,”

He swallowed, his brow furrowing as the reality sank in that Arthur could’ve lost his life at any point in time from running with his gang. What was worse was realizing that Arthur could have gotten hurt during his visits over the last month or so, and Albert wouldn’t have even known. The thought made his chest feel tight. He ran his thumb over the recessed mark. Forcing his thoughts to the side, he leaned down and gave that one more attention than the others, taking his time to run his tongue along the edge of it in a way that had Arthur’s breath hitching and his hand grasping his hair. 

It was decided in Albert’s mind that the scar was a reminder that life is fragile, and he was grateful that it only left a reminder rather than taking Arthur’s life.

Albert moved further down, eyeing a curved and jagged scar that curved along his side just underneath a pectoral. He kissed along the outline of the muscle and the indents of his ribcage before finally reaching the raised silvery skin.

“And this one?” 

“That one _was_ from a knife fight,” he chuckled.

Albert couldn’t help but grin up at Arthur before planting open-mouthed kisses along the scar. He gave the skin a tentative suck, and his grin became a small smirk at the groan it drew from Arthur’s lips. 

Before he could venture any lower, Arthur pulled him back up by the collar of his shirt. Albert obliged without protest as his face was cradled by Arthur’s large hands. Although, it surprised him to find that the sadness lurking behind his blue eyes had risen to the surface. 

“Why are you doing this, Al?” 

He seemed genuinely baffled, which made Albert’s heart ache for a moment. “Because I want to, and I want you to know I love every part of you, no matter how marred or broken you think you are,”

Arthur slid one hand to the back of his neck to pull him down for a kiss, his lips already parted as their mouths locked together. His fingers carded through his dark locks, bringing him closer. When he parted, they were both breathless, and Arthur dusted his face with light kisses before staring into his warm eyes. 

“I hope you know how much that means to me. As much as I argue and whine, I do appreciate that for whatever reason, you see me the way you do.”

“Of course, Arthur. You think you’re tight-lipped, but your eyes always seem to say it all. The veneer you try to keep is thin, and beneath it is a selfless and kind man.” Albert smiled as he gave his nose a peck. 

Arthur mirrored his wide smile before rolling them both over, flipping their positions with ease. The photographer yelped in surprise, a vibrant blush painted across his cheeks. Arthur smirked as he unbuttoned the photographer’s shirt and ducked his head into the crook of Albert’s neck where he sucked several marks onto the soft and delicate skin. While the sensation had Albert’s skin alight with pleasure, it was obvious that he was getting paid back for the light bruises he’d left on Arthur, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Really, Arthur? Is this your way of getting even?”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,”

He laughed. “My word, you can be so childish sometimes!” 

Arthur lightly grazed his teeth against the ticklish spot on the photographer’s neck and smiled wider as it earned a shiver. “Oh really?” 

“Yes!”

“Then I s’pose I have no choice but to prove otherwise to you,” he rolled his hips against Albert’s as he tossed his shirt aside, “that I can take things seriously when ya want me to.”

Albert’s face flushed bright red, a surge of arousal coursing through him as he wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck. “I-I guess so. I’m sure some convincing wouldn’t hurt.”

Arthur grinned and resumed lavishing the man beneath him with affection. He took his time to remove Albert’s clothes, savoring the sounds his mouth and hands pulled from the gentleman. It was music to his ears, and Albert was quick to undress Arthur as well, their clothes forming a modest pile on the otherwise uncluttered floor.

There was a moment, however, where Arthur hesitated. He didn’t have the things needed for what he intended to do. Yet Albert read his mind, and with a smile he mentioned that he’d packed his things from his nightstand drawer. Arthur teased him lightly for being so prepared, mentioning that the photographer was clearly counting on this happening again. Albert only rolled his eyes and replied with a cheeky quip about how Arthur talked a big talk, but how he should’ve seen the brief fear that had flickered in his eyes from being ill-prepared.

It was Arthur’s turn to roll his eyes at that, and he repaid Albert’s smartassery by pleasuring him with his mouth on nearly every square inch of his body, teasing him until he was begging for Arthur to get going. 

Arthur gladly gave in, and his smug smile dropped as he relished in the feel of Albert. Their breaths were mostly gasps and moans, panting in between each and by the time they both finished, their lungs were pulling in air as if they’d run a marathon.

When Arthur could feel his legs again, he got up to wet a small towel before returning to clean both of them up. He then tossed the cloth into a hamper and wrapped his arm around Albert’s bare waist and pulled him close. A sigh of content escaped Albert as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips against Arthur’s temple.

“So what's the plan for the rest of today?” Albert asked.

He snorted. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s only eleven in the morning.”

Arthur groaned. “Feels later.” 

“I know,”

“I say we nap,”

Albert chuckled. “I think that’s one of the best ideas I’ve heard all day.”

“Good, ‘cuz I wasn’t plannin’ on doing anything else,” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Work has been crazy but somehow I ended up writing most of this chapter all in one day! I had writer's block for a while but Caps_Kat gave some good advice and that seemed to do the trick! Thank you so much friend!
> 
> If there are any spelling mistakes or errors, please let me know! I'm so excited to share the next chapter with you all!
> 
> Also, if you want to read some more Albert/Arthur content, I have another series called "One Star-Crossed Cowboy". I'm not sure if the next chapter will be posted on time, so if you're interested, there's always that to read in the meantime if you haven't' already!
> 
> Have a lovely week!


	16. An Honest Mistake

Arthur’s eyes opened slowly, and the bright afternoon light peeking through the cracks of his curtain greeted him. As he stretched, he found that Albert was no longer beside him. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, he discovered that he’d slept well over two hours, and he sighed as he relaxed back into the bed. 

He didn’t want to get up. With being back home and having Hosea’s funeral behind him, his grief felt like a hefty weight on his chest, pinning him down where he lay. Arthur hadn’t noticed it as much earlier, but now that the chaos from the last few days had settled, the pain was almost all-consuming. Between losing Hosea, and Dutch losing his mind, it was as if all he knew was falling apart. In the course of a few days, his world had been rocked and turned upside down, and the reality of it was only just now sinking in. 

The people he had once trusted with his life were either gone or becoming nothing more than ghosts of who they were. 

Arthur closed his eyes, and he’d almost drifted back to sleep when he heard his bedroom door open. While he knew it was Albert, he didn’t have the motivation to move. Yet despite that being the case, he felt the mattress dip with Albert’s weight as he slid in behind him. The warmth of his body against Arthur's back brought some comfort to him, and as Albert wrapped an arm around his waist, Arthur took his hand in his. The photographer gave it a light squeeze and planted a kiss on the back of his neck.

“Afternoon, Arthur,”

He replied to his warm greeting with a grunt.

“Is everything alright?”

He only shrugged.

For a moment, Albert wasn’t sure what to say. By now, he knew Arthur well enough to know something was amiss. The man was anything but a slow riser, and his disposition had changed greatly in just a few hours. He recalled John’s words and furrowed his brow, wondering just where Arthur’s thoughts had taken him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He finally asked.

Arthur sighed. “No, not really.” 

He nodded to himself as he released Arthur's hand to trace unknown shapes along his skin. "You know, I was thinking that maybe we could do something today before we run out of daylight."

"What'd you have in mind with this weather?" He scoffed. It sounded harsher than he intended it to be, but Albert didn’t seem to take it personally.

"Well, we could go fishing if you'd like. Does Arturo take people out to sea to fish?"

"At this time of year? Only people with a death wish." He replied. "Besides, that's way out in Hanover. It'd be too late to go fishing by the time we got there."

“Then what about a stroll? Hm? Or even dinner?”

“You got cabin fever or somethin’ already?”

“No, but I’m dragging you out of this bed one way or another,”

Arthur groaned. He felt Albert leave his side and, despite his closed eyes, he was suddenly blinded by the bright morning light. It was painful, and he brought a hand up to shield his eyes as he blinked them open to find that the photographer had pulled the curtains back.

“For fuck's sake, Al,” he groaned, “couldn’t you have just turned on the light?” 

Albert looked over his shoulder, an apologetic smile on his face. “I’m sorry, but this is much more effective.”

Arthur muttered under his breath as he rolled over and forced himself to sit up. “Alright, alright, I’m gettin’ up!” 

As Arthur sat on the edge of the bed rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Albert admired how the brilliant light shone on the defined muscles of his back. If he were a painter, he would’ve set to work right then and there. A photograph would’ve captured the image, but sometimes, cameras didn’t quite convey the same sentiments as paintings did. 

When Arthur had gotten dressed, Albert walked over and helped fix the collar of his shirt. Arthur couldn’t help but smile a small smile at the gesture. It was sweet, and for the first time since waking up, he felt the ache in his heart subside just enough to take the weight off his chest. Albert returned his smile as he cradled his face in his hands before pressing his lips to Arthur’s forehead.

“Come on, Arthur, let's drive out to Hanover and stroll through town like two young lovers with nothing better to do.”

Arthur laughed, finding the proposition both amusing and endearing. “You have the strangest and most wonderful ideas sometimes! What on Earth did I do before meeting you?”

“That I’m not sure, but I’m glad you don’t find my ideas too outlandish!”

“I don’t, unless it’s assuming a frozen lake is a clearing, or thinkin’ that going fishing at this hour on the Pacific is a good idea.” He teased. “Or even deciding that it’s perfectly fine to go out into bear country alone—”

“Alright, alright! I get your point!” He replied as he gave his shoulder a playful shove.

Arthur smirked and snagged him by the waist. He squirmed in his grasp as he laughed, and while Albert tried to break free, it was obvious that he wasn’t trying too hard as Arthur wrapped his arms around him. He blew air on his neck and tickled his sides before Albert breathlessly pleaded for him to stop. Arthur let go and helped him straighten his turtleneck sweater, and they made their way into the living room to finish getting ready for their short road trip. 

As Albert grabbed his coat, Arthur walked over to the kitchen counter where the old gambler hat Albert had bought him was and placed it on his head. He then grabbed his keys and jacket before they both left the house and stepped into the truck. Like clockwork, Albert put in a cassette of Johnny Cash’s greatest hits and relaxed into his seat. Arthur smiled as “I Walk the Line” began to play. He couldn’t help but glance over at Albert and admire him as the lyrics and rhythmic guitar strumming filled the car.

_Yes, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you_

_Because you're mine, I walk the line_

 He truly was a fool for the photographer. Arthur would do anything for him. Albert could tell him he wanted the moon for all he cared, and he would lasso it and pull it down in a heartbeat. Arthur only hoped he wouldn’t let him down. With cutting his ties to the Van der Linde gang, he wondered if he’d be able to be the partner Albert deserved. It was a far fetched idea, but certainly not impossible.

They arrived in Hanover in good time, and the evening sun painted the charming town in brilliant hues of gold. Although as Albert stepped out of the truck, a chill ran down his spine as the cold wind blew against his neck. Arthur noticed and promptly wrapped an arm around his shoulders as they walked into a nearby restaurant.

Arthur took a seat where he could see the door and the rest of the restaurant out of habit. It was an old precaution that Hosea and Dutch had instilled in him. Keeping a watchful eye on their surroundings was sometimes the only difference between life and death when it came to their rivalry with the O'Driscolls and the law that was determined to find them. He stared down at his empty plate, recalling the time Hosea had saved his life when he'd made the rookie mistake of letting his guard down in O'Driscoll territory. 

He tried to discreetly shrug off the unexpected wave of grief that came over him, but Albert was ever so attentive, and he noticed the subtle change regardless. "Arthur? Are you alright?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

His soft eyes narrowed a hair. "You've had a lot happen to you in just three days. You don’t have to pretend that everything is okay."

Arthur dared to meet Albert's eyes, summoning the courage to let the man read him. "I miss him."

He reached across the table and held his hand. "I'm sorry, would you prefer it if we ate somewhere quieter? We can always get something to go and eat elsewhere."

"No, it ain't that," he sighed, "just thinkin' about him is all."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. 

Albert nodded and began to talk about something else. Arthur was more than grateful for his understanding, and he relaxed as he listened to his soothing voice. The gentleman had a gift for storytelling, and for someone who had a quiet disposition, he had mastered the fine art of conversation. When their food came, he continued to talk between mouthfuls, but never with a full mouth. Albert told stories about his best and worst clients as well as the shenanigans his sister had pulled him into when they were young.

"You went explorin' a condemned house? In the middle of the night? _You?_ " Arthur could hardly believe it.

"Yes," he chuckled, "not the smartest thing we've done. It was just barely in one piece, and I swear that old house was only standing out of sheer spite alone, but she had me convinced it would provide some unique shots to add to my portfolio. And it did, but mark my words, I would _never_ do that again!"

He chuckled. "You're lucky it didn't cave, or that you didn't run into any squatters!"

"Heather has always had the luck that I wish I had," he smiled. 

"Nonsense, just about everyone in the more remote parts of Alaska has had an incident or two, just comes with the territory."

Albert cocked an eyebrow, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Are you saying I'm a proper Alaskan now?" 

"Not quite," he grinned, "but damn near close enough."

When they finished, they paid their tab and decided to take a leisurely stroll along the sidewalk. It was quiet other than the soft crunching of snow beneath their feet. Between the soft light from the lampposts and the setting sun, the whole night felt surreal to Arthur. As nice as Mary had been, not even she had made his heart flutter and flip the way Albert could. He was stunning in the warm light, and the cold air made his cheeks and nose rosy. Arthur smiled to himself and reached out for his hand which the photographer took without missing a beat. 

As they continued to walk, Albert caught sight of an independently owned bookstore. The architecture of it was charming and reminded him of the older shops scattered throughout New York. He smiled wide and strayed from Arthur's side to get a better look at it.

“Oh, Arthur, look at this lovely bookstore!”

He sized up the quaint store and felt a tightness settle in his chest. “Yeah, I see it.”

“It looks like it has an incredible selection,”

“Go check it out, then. I’m gonna have a smoke while you take a look.” Arthur said. 

Albert furrowed his brow. “You’re not coming inside?” 

He shook his head as he dug through his pocket for a carton of cigarettes.

Albert was hesitant as he watched him hold a lighter to the end of the cigarette in his mouth, the smoke swirling around his face before curling around the brim of his hat. With how Arthur had been acting lately, he didn’t feel right leaving him outside while he looked around. Yet as Albert started to return to his side, Arthur waved him off with a lopsided grin that he knew was forced.

Arthur was glad the photographer hadn’t pressed him for an explanation before disappearing inside, the bells hanging above the door clanging against each other as it opened and closed. The old bookstore reminded him too much of Hosea and the times the old man had dragged him into places just like it. While Dutch had tried to force philosophy books down his throat, it was Hosea who had helped Arthur find classics that he enjoyed and had single-handedly rekindled his love for reading and writing that his rudimentary schooling failed to do.

He clenched his jaw as he looked away from the storefront and took a long drag, knowing that it was unwise for him to linger any longer on the memory. Once he’d reeled in his emotions, he lifted his eyes from the ground and noticed that there was a bar not too far on the other side of the street. Arthur studied the neon sign, glanced at the bookstore, then stared at the bar once more. He swallowed and drew another deep breath of the smoke. 

One drink wouldn’t hurt, and he could order a shot and down it well before ten minutes had passed. If he chose his seat right, it looked like he'd be able to keep an eye on the store. He could control himself, and if Albert asked, he was more than willing to tell him where he went after he’d had his drink. There was no sense in going inside to tell him when he’d be back well before Albert was finished browsing the bookstore. 

Arthur took one last drag on his cigarette and flicked it into a snowbank before crossing the quiet street. 

The rustic bar was rowdy with the majority of its patrons being either drunk or tipsy. He took in his surroundings as he took a seat at the bar counter that had a clear view of the window. The bartender noticed him immediately, and he was surprisingly quick to make his way over.

“What can I get you tonight, sir?” He asked, his smile pulling at the corners of his dark mustache.

“A shot of whiskey will do,”

The bartender nodded and left to get him his drink. As Arthur waited, he felt the woman on the stool beside him look him over. He tried to ignore it at first, adjusting his hat to hide more of his face as he preoccupied himself with watching the crowd. Yet she continued to stare, and he braced himself as he watched her out of the corner of his eye stub the cigarette she’d been smoking in an ashtray on the counter.

“You come here alone?”

He sighed. “Listen, lady, I ain’t interested in any propositions.”

She scoffed at his assumption. “Who said I was offerin’ any!”

Arthur looked over at her. She looked weathered by the life she lived and appeared to be in her mid-forties. There was something fiery about her, and she was distinctly authentic, so much so it convinced him to smooth his bristly demeanor. 

“My apologies,”

She dismissed his reply with a wave of her hand. “Don’t worry about it, a charming young man like yourself probably has to turn down more admirers than he can count.”

Arthur snorted in disbelief. “Not really.”

“Then you’re as blind as a bat,” she said, “surely you’ve noticed the number of stares you’ve gotten since you set foot in this bar.”

“I reckon _they’re_ the blind bats,”

“Are they now?” She asked with a crooked grin. “So, you here drinkin’ to forget?”

He frowned, disliking the way she could see right through him. “Excuse me?” 

“Well, there’s only a handful of reasons why people go to bars alone, and judging by the sad look in your eye, I’d say you came here to drink till you forget whatever’s botherin’ you,”

“I s’pose,” he grunted.

She watched as the bartender handed him his drink before taking a sip of her own. “What’s your name?”

“Arthur, and yours?”

“Folk ‘round here call me Black Belle,”

“ _Black_ Belle?”

“That’s what I said,”

“Why?” Arthur asked before downing his shot of whiskey. 

She shrugged. “Might be ‘cuz I wear black, or it might be ‘cuz I’ve been widowed six times. I’ll let you decide for yourself which you’re more inclined to believe.”

His brow furrowed. “I take it you’re familiar with drinking to forget, then.”

“Guess so,” Belle replied before her eyes lit up again. “Say, how about ‘lil drinkin’ game?”

He glanced at the window before looking down at his empty glass. “I dunno.”

“Just some good ‘ol friendly competition is all, and it beats drinkin’ alone,” she said, “of course, I understand if you’d rather drink in peace.”

Arthur fidgeted with the shot glass for a moment, his eyes flitting to the bookstore before he shook his head. “What the hell, sure.”

 

Albert had only intended on being in the store for ten minutes, perhaps fifteen to twenty at the most, but certainly not thirty. Yet he forced a smile as the storeowner prattled on about ley lines and how Alaska was supposedly a convergent of them. Much to his dismay, the gentleman only went on when Albert tried to kindly excuse himself. The man was like a broken record, although unintentionally or not Albert wasn’t sure, as he repeatedly dubbed Alaska ‘the Bermuda Triangle of the north’ and described the area as a ‘nexus of energy’. Albert, however, wasn’t a superstitious man, and thus wasn’t concerned by the ‘channels of energy’ the store owner was determined to educate him on. What _did_ concern him was the fact he hadn’t heard the tarnished bells at the front door chime in the last forty minutes. Not a single person had entered the store after him, and Albert fidgeted with his sleeve as he peered through the store’s front window.

While the angle he was at didn’t provide him with the best view, Arthur was nowhere to be seen, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. 

Albert finally excused himself as bluntly and politely as he could. Shrugging on his jacket, he stepped out into the bitter cold. Outside, he found what he had feared he would.

There was no sign of Arthur, and even if he knew the basics of tracking, there were far too many footprints in the snow for him to even know where to start. He clutched the lapel of his jacket and tried his best to keep from hyperventilating. While he felt helpless, Albert knew he needed a clear head to find Arthur. He forced himself to take a deep breath in through his nose before scrutinizing his surroundings.

His heart dropped as his eyes landed on a bar’s neon sign that stood out against the brilliant fuchsia sunset.

For a moment, he simply stood there in the snow and the fading light, hoping with every fiber of his being that he was wrong. 

Albert checked his surroundings once more, steeled himself, and crossed the street.

 

Arthur watched Black Belle as she downed her ninth shot of whiskey without a problem and set her glass down on the counter with a harsh clang. A wide smirk pulled at the corner of her mouth as she gestured to the whiskey shot in front of Arthur, challenging him to take her on for another round. He scoffed to himself as he mirrored her smirk. There were few more rounds left in him, and it had been a while since he’d had a friendly drinking competition. He reasoned he could have another, and as he lifted a shot glass to his lips, his eyes flicked to the door, and his stomach turned.

Albert was standing there, his dismay and hurt bleeding through his wide-eyed expression.

The guilt that came crashing over Arthur was paralyzing, and it was only after Albert had turned to leave the bar that he was able to move again, setting down the full shot glass as he pushed his way through the crowd. He stumbled out of the door after Albert, doing his best to tail after him. The photographer’s brisk walk didn’t make it easy as a wave of vertigo made Arthur unsteady on his feet, and it dawned on him that he was more intoxicated than he had thought. He was surprised that he had been able to catch up and grab Albert’s arm at all.

Albert stopped, although he didn’t lift his eyes to meet Arthur’s. Instead, he wordlessly opened the passenger door to the Ford Bronco, and Arthur realized that perhaps he had only caught up to Albert because he’d let him.

“Albert, I can—”

“You can get in the car, that’s what you can do.”

Arthur was taken aback by the curt yet even command. Despite his countless mistakes, not once had he seen this side of Albert. Arthur did as he was told without protest, feeling shame weighing heavy on his heart. He watched as Albert walked around the front, and he wished he could read Albert’s mind. For the most part, the photographer wore his heart on his sleeve, but as Albert sat behind the wheel, the only expression he had was a furrowed brow.

Angry wasn’t the right word to describe Albert’s disposition. It actually stunned Arthur how there wasn’t a single ounce of resentment towards him. However, disappointment was another story. It radiated off the photographer, which Arthur decided was far worse. He was familiar with anger, and handling it was easy. For most of his life, his father had used him as an outlet for his hot temper. Even Dutch and John had at times. Anger was what he was used to, and Arthur had become calloused to angry outbursts, but disappointment never failed to cut him to the quick.

Disappointment only confirmed the flaws he saw in himself.

Reminded him that he was everything he feared he was.

Arthur dared to steal a glance and saw disappointment bleeding through Albert’s expression. He couldn’t bear the sight, and his gaze flicked to the road ahead.

“I’m sorry,” he started, “I just—”

“We’re not having this conversation until you’re sober.” Albert’s tone was firm.

He sighed and turned on his radio. Johnny Cash’s voice flooded the thick silence between them, yet the song playing only seemed to aggravate it. Arthur had immediately recognized it as “It Ain’t Me, Babe” and his heart ached. The second verse began to play, and he swallowed.

_I'm not the one you want, babe_

_I will only let you down_

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Albert scrunch up his face as he turned off the music. The abrupt silence was deafening.

Arthur pulled at his sleeve and frowned. “It’s true, you know.”

“What is?” The photographer asked as he glanced at him, although Arthur could tell he knew what he meant.

When he finally replied, his voice was but a soft whisper. “I’m only gonna let you down, Al,”

The photographer’s expression hardened. “I said this conversation is going to wait until you’re sober. I mean it.”

The drive back to Arthur’s house was long. Had the circumstances been any different, Arthur would have fallen asleep. The night was clear, and the road was smooth from a recent plowing. The soothing vibrations of it were nearly enough to lull him to sleep. He was exhausted, and while his eyelids were heavy, his guilt kept him awake. About forty minutes into their drive, Arthur considered telling Albert that he was impressed by how well he drove the old truck, but then he remembered how it was his selfishness that had put the photographer behind the wheel in the first place, and the shame that followed the thought silenced him.

Albert eventually turned into Arthur’s driveway and shut the car off once they had pulled up by the door. As Arthur stepped out of the truck, he was grateful that the alcohol had worn off enough to make his world stop spinning. However, there was a buzz that lingered, and he was still unsteady on his feet. His cheeks were flushed despite the freezing temperatures, and with the snow beginning to ice over, Albert helped him inside.

“Take it easy for the rest of the night, Arthur. Get yourself to bed and we’ll talk about this in the morning.” Albert said as he took a seat in an armchair and took his laptop out of its case.

Arthur eyed him and the computer in his lap as he leaned against the doorframe to his bedroom. “What about you? Are you comin’ to bed?” 

“In a little while, I have a few emails that I need to reply to.”

He nodded dolefully to himself before shutting the door to his room after him and changed.

As he lay in his bed, his whole body ached with fatigue. Yet, Arthur stayed awake as he waited for Albert. His eyes flitted to the clock again and again as the minutes ticked by. A part of him doubted that Albert would want to join him. To go behind the photographer’s back and get himself drunk was inexcusable. Albert deserved better, and Arthur wondered if Albert would even still be around the next day.

It was about an hour later when he finally heard the doorknob to his room turn, but Arthur refused to get his hopes up. After all, Albert's clothes were stored in one of his dresser drawers. For all Arthur knew, the photographer was simply gathering his things. Yet when he finally felt the mattress dip with Albert’s weight, he felt sweet relief loosen the knot in his stomach. But Arthur never felt him scoot any closer as he always had, and he found that he couldn't blame Albert. Going to the bar without telling him had been a dick move, and it was a wonder that Albert had even decided to sleep in the same bed as him in the first place.

With a quiet sigh, he finally closed his eyes to let his body get the rest it was pleading for him to allow. 

 

Arthur woke up early the next morning only to be greeted with a headache from the night before. With a groan, he rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t slept much through the night as he wrestled with the guilt that had plagued his dreams. A glance at his watch told him it was six-thirty, and he quietly got up and changed. 

As he gently closed the door behind him, he finished buttoning his shirt and walked over to a junk drawer in the kitchen where he pulled out a pen and a blank piece of paper. Arthur knew Albert had wanted to talk about last night that morning, but he selfishly didn’t want to just yet. He feared what Albert would say, or even decide, so he left a note letting the photographer know that he was going to take a walk by Lake Isabella to clear his head and that he would be back by eight.

By the time he started his truck and was heading out to the lake, the sun had started to reveal its hazy glow against the dark sky. He found it peaceful, and the winding road was empty except for one car that had been left on the snowy shoulder. As he drove on in silence, he realized that it felt odd not having Albert beside him. His eyes flitted to Albert’s scarf that had been left on the dashboard last night. It was the same one he’d let him borrow in New York, and Arthur sighed as his gaze returned to the road.

When he arrived at the lake, Arthur stepped out of his car and took a path to the right that went through a grove of aspen trees. It was a trail he knew by heart, one that he’d taken countless times over the last year. The path was where he liked to do most of his thinking when he wasn’t in the mood for journaling, and the familiarity of it was comforting. It was mostly quiet except for the occasional call of a raven. With the steady pounding in his head, the silence was more than welcome, and Arthur found that he didn’t mind the lone bird’s company. He paused to look up and found the raven perched on a branch above him. The raven was easy to spot, its jet black feathers standing out against the snow-covered aspens. For a brief moment, Arthur wished he had his journal so he could sketch the large bird. Instead, he studied it before it spread its wings and flew off.

It was when his hands and feet had started to feel numb when he finally started making his way back to his truck. His face had started to hurt from the cold, and he tried rubbing some warmth into his hands.

When he stepped out of the grove of trees, he stopped in his tracks. There was a car parked next to his, and he furrowed his brow as he recognized it as the one he’d passed on the road. The readying of a gun sounded behind him, and he spun around only to be met by a searing pain just beneath his collarbone as a gunshot shattered the silence. 

Arthur cried out, realizing that it was Micah behind the raised pistol before the impact of a second bullet in his chest had him stumbling to the ground. He gritted his teeth as the pain settled in and spread like fire through his chest. Arthur tried to force himself to get up, but Micah was faster. The man stopped him with a firm boot on his chest, a smug smirk plastered onto his face.

Arthur was both furious and dumbfounded, and he wondered how Micah had found him in the first place.

His confusion must’ve shown, because the next thing he knew, Micah was snickering as he knelt down over him. “You look awfully confused there, cowpoke.”

“How?” He spat.

“How what? How did I find you?” He asked. “Apparently Dutch knows everything about you; where you live, what you drive. Hell, it was too easy to find you, almost took the fun out of it.”

He felt a different kind of pain in his chest at the mention of Dutch. “Dutch sent you?”

“You could say that. Ever since you left, Dutch hasn’t stopped going on about you. Arthur _this,_  oh Arthur _that_ , Arthur would _never._ I’m _sick_ of it! So when Dutch wanted someone to check up on you, to see if his golden boy, his _favorite_ , was sure he wanted out, you bet your ass I volunteered. And now here I am, putting us all out of our misery.”

“Fuck you!” Arthur spat. He tried to reach for the knife in his pocket, but Micah had expected him to retaliate, and he quickly halted the movement by shooting Arthur in the thigh. 

“Just let it happen, Morgan. You ain’t going nowhere.” He smirked as the man beneath him writhed in pain. “I wonder if anyone is gonna find your corpse. Better yet, what will that charming gentleman of yours think? Hell, I’m probably doing him a favor!”

“You sonuvabitch,” Arthur hissed as the pressure from Micah’s boot lifted as he rose to his feet. “Dutch is gonna figure out what you’ve done.”

“The only thing that man’s figuring out is that I found you already dead at the hands of the law,”

Arthur scowled. “When I get up I’m gonna kill you!”

“Such a bold threat coming from a man who’s dying,”

He grimaced as he tried to sit up before his body gave out, causing him to collapse onto his back again. “Yeah, well on the inside you’re dead.”

Micah snorted as he holstered his pistol. “I must say, Arthur, it’s been a lot of fun. See you in hell, Morgan.”

As Micah walked away, Arthur stared up at the clear sky. He lay there in the snow as the sound of Micah’s car grew fainter as it drove further away. The blazing pain in his chest made each breath agonizing, and the warmth soaking his shirt made the snow beneath him colder. He tried regulating his shuddering breaths. His body was in shock, trying to recover and compensate for the damage done to his chest. He closed his eyes and grimaced.

Arthur felt the snow begin to numb the back of his head, and it occurred to him how easy it would be to let go. All things considered, bleeding to death wasn’t the worst way to go. It would be easy, even effortless. He’d faced worse, but out of all his close calls with death, he never thought being left for dead in the cold Alaskan wilderness would be how he went out.

His initial fear and adrenaline began to dissipate, and as his racing heart started to settle, he wondered if he would see Hosea again once this was all over. As his clouded thoughts drifted, there was one that derailed his train of thought and reawakened his desire to live.

Albert would be left behind, and without a cellphone, there was no way for him to explain what had happened, and he sure as hell refused to die at the hands of Micah.

With a grimace, Arthur opened his eyes and tried sitting up. He clenched his fists as a fresh wave of fiery pain washed over him. The effort left him panting, which only intensified the burning of the gunshot wounds. Arthur didn’t doubt that his lungs had been punctured as it was already getting harder to breathe. Despite this, he forced himself to his feet and stumbled through the snow, falling to his knees twice, as he made his way to the Ford Bronco. He wasted no time starting the car to get the heat going before he set to work, pulling his jacket open and unbuttoning his shirt. His eyes settled on Albert’s scarf, and he frowned, the article of clothing filling him with determination. He grabbed the scarf and placed the fabric between his teeth. 

He withdrew his pocket knife and lighter from his pocket and only hesitated for a brief moment before he held the flame to the blade. If he continued to lose blood at this rate in the middle of nowhere, he would certainly bleed to death. Even now, he was already starting to feel lightheaded, and he realized he had no choice but to cauterize his wounds. 

It would be crude at best, but he had no other choice if he wanted to increase his chances of survival.

When the blade was hot enough, he drew a deep breath, adjusted his rearview mirror to see what he was doing better, and set his jaw before touching the flat side of it to the bullet wound beneath his collarbone.

He cried out and bit down on the fabric hard as the heat seared his flesh, both the smell and the excruciating pain of it making his head swim. Once he had caught his breath, he quickly set to work cauterizing the second entry wound before cutting a hole in his pant leg to do the same to the one in his thigh. Both his brow and shirt were soaked with sweat when he'd finished, and he removed the scarf from his mouth to find he had ruined the fabric. If he survived this, he would buy Albert another.

He shifted into drive and pulled onto the road. It was a race against the clock as he drove toward his home, and Arthur floored it as much as he could with the road conditions. 

What would’ve usually taken twenty-five minutes took fifteen, and when he had pulled up his driveway, he managed to pull himself into the passenger seat and laid on his horn. He beeped it several more times, desperately hoping Albert would hear it and come investigate.

 

Albert had woken up with the sunrise, and he was reminded how much later it rose in Cairn compared to New York. According to the clock that hung on the wall, it was a few minutes past eight. He stretched and looked over his shoulder to find that Arthur was no longer beside him. The photographer frowned, and after getting dressed, he shuffled his way out of the bedroom to investigate.

When he didn’t find Arthur in the kitchen or living room, he drew a deep breath and exhaled it slowly before checking his phone, hoping for a text from Charles, but found that he didn’t have a single notification. He tried his best not to let Arthur’s sudden disappearance affect him as he tucked his phone back into his pocket. Yet not a single explanation he thought of brought an ounce of comfort. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t help but wonder if Arthur was avoiding him. He glanced at the front door before deciding to make himself a cup of coffee.

It was only when he started pouring water into the machine that he noticed the note on the counter with Arthur’s handwriting on it. Albert stopped pouring and set the coffee pot to the side. He quickly picked up the note and scanned the words that had been uncharacteristically scrawled out, and he deduced that Arthur must have woken up with a hangover.

 

_Morning Al,_

_I know you said you wanted to talk about last night this morning, but I needed some time to clear my head. My thoughts, as you may have already guessed, have been murky. They’ve been clouding my mind, and I needed to get away to clear it all. I hope you understand. I’m out walking by Lake Isabella, but I’ll be back before eight._

 

Albert frowned and glanced at his watch. It was now twenty minutes past eight, and he felt an icy sense of dread send a chill down his spine. He swallowed and set the note down. What was keeping Arthur? His chest suddenly felt tight, and it was difficult to breathe as his thoughts spiraled, fearing the worst.

The blaring of a horn made him jump, and he hastily made his way toward the door, slipped on his boots, and opened it. The blue Ford Bronco was there, except Arthur was behind the passenger seat and he didn’t look good. From what he could tell, he looked sick and faint, and he ran over to the door and opened it. 

He felt the blood immediately drain from his face as his wide eyes took it all in.

Arthur was a bloody mess. His skin was pallid and clammy, and his hair was soaked with sweat. The sight struck fear into his heart. 

“Arthur! Oh good heavens! What happened?”

“Now’s not the time, Al,” he grimaced, “I need you to drive me to the hospital.”

He nodded and shut the door before quickly skirting around the front of the truck and jumping into the driver’s seat. He backed out of the driveway quickly and drove towards the heart of Cairn where the closest hospital was.

Albert glanced at Arthur. He looked like death, and the photographer’s mind swam with questions that threatened to spill from his lips. Although, the man was in no state to be asked a thousand questions, and the sudden shuddering breath he heard from Arthur made his heart race faster than he thought it ever could.

“Hang in there Arthur, just a few more minutes,”

Arthur only nodded with gritted teeth as he clutched his chest.

“What happened?” It was the one question he had to ask. Arthur had clearly been attacked, and Albert needed to know at least a brief summary of it all.

“Micah happened,” 

Albert was shocked at first, and he found his thoughts flooded with a hundred more questions. However, fury soon replaced his shock, and his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so angry, and while he would’ve been no match for the bastard, he wanted to strangle Micah. Yet he tried his best to set those thoughts and feelings aside for now. Arthur needed him to be fully present and with a clear head. His life depended on it.

“What do you want me to tell the hospital? They’re going to ask how you got your wounds.”

“Tell them it was a hunting accident.”

“They aren’t going to believe that,”

He let out a scoff that made him grunt in pain. “This is Alaska, half the things that happen ain’t ever reported. They won’t pry.”

Albert nodded as he continued to speed down the road. He stole another quick glance at Arthur, and the listless look in his eyes made him swallow hard. “You know I love you, right, Arthur?” 

“I love you too, Al.” He looked up at the photographer, and the fear in Albert’s eyes made his heart twist in his chest. “Everything is going to be okay.”

Albert didn’t look convinced, but he couldn’t blame him. Not even Arthur knew if he was going to make it, but he could at least say that he tried, even in the end, and the thought brought him a sense of peace as he slipped into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all:
> 
> :3c
> 
> Second of all, thank you friends for all your lovely comments! They really do make my day and I truly appreciate them! <3 Have a wonderful labor day weekend!


	17. May We Stand Unshaken

Charles had been in the middle of his morning routine when Albert had called him. The man had been a babbling mess, and Charles had to tell him twice to take a deep breath and slow down. When he finally was able to understand what had happened and that Arthur was in the emergency room, he hung up with Albert and immediately got in his car to drive to the hospital. 

There wasn’t much that scared Charles, but the thought of losing the few good friends he had did. The last time he’d feared for Arthur’s life had been a year ago when he'd been put on death row for the three O'Driscolls Dutch had murdered. Of course, at the time, he never showed it. There had been too many people who needed a level head then, and somehow he knew Dutch had been planning a way to bail him out. The tremor he’d heard in Albert’s voice on the line had rekindled that fear, and it sounded as if Arthur was only hanging on by a thread. 

Charles pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he walked through the hospital at a brisk pace towards the waiting room. He paused and scanned the seats before finding Albert in a chair by the far corner. The man was doubled over with his head in his hands. His hair was unusually unkempt, and there were dried bloodstains on his turtleneck sweater. Charles swallowed, knowing that the blood had to have been Arthur's.

He studied him a moment longer from where he stood. Albert was distraught, and Charles drew a deep breath in through his nose. The photographer needed someone who was sure and steady, someone to anchor him until Arthur was stable. Of course, Charles knew that didn’t mean he had to pretend that everything was fine. It wasn’t. He had tried that last time and had discovered that the tactic was more harmful than helpful for all parties involved.

He walked over to him and took a seat in the empty chair beside him. Albert lifted his head from his hands and offered an empty yet polite smile. 

“Thanks for coming, Charles,” he said.

“Of course, thank _you_ for telling me as quickly as you did,”

He nodded as his stare drifted to the tiled floor. 

“Have you heard anything since they took him into the operating room?”

“No,” he sighed. “Honestly, Charles, I’m terrified. There was so much blood… I heard a nurse say he tried cauterizing his own wounds as they took him away. Is that bad?”

Charles thought over his words as he stared up at the TV that was entertaining itself. “Well, if anything, it bought him time, but it might give him hell in the long run. How long has he been in there?”

He ran a hand over his face as he tried to recall when exactly he had arrived at the hospital. It was all a blur already, and the hospital staff had been quick to take Arthur in for emergency surgery. “About twenty minutes, I think? I don’t know.”

Charles nodded to himself and folded his arms across his chest. His eyes fell on some year-old magazines that looked brand new. He looked up to observe the other anxious people in the waiting room and wondered who had thought keeping magazines around was a good idea. No one was reading them, and it seemed that the television’s only purpose was to fill the heavy silence.

“Do you think he’ll make it?” 

He looked over at the photographer. His distress was written all over his face, and it occurred to Charles that what happened to Arthur was most likely the first time he’d seen someone severely injured. He felt sympathy for the gentleman as he recalled his first experience. Charles was ten when his father had stumbled through the door, drunk and beaten to a pulp by some teens who thought it would be funny to take a baseball bat to a drunkard. Despite his broken relationship with his father, Charles had still been scared to death at the time. He could only imagine what Albert had felt seeing Arthur just barely holding on.

“Arthur’s always been a fighter,” he finally said, “there's a good chance he’ll pull through.”

“I hope you’re right,” he drew a shuddering breath and ran a hand through his hair. “You should’ve seen him, Charles. I...when I brought him inside I wasn't even sure if he was alive."

He gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before rubbing his back in soothing circles. “You did great, Albert. He would have surely died without you.”

Albert didn’t reply, although his expression darkened as he rested his chin on his folded hands. He wished there was something more he could've done, and he couldn't help but feel that what happened to Arthur was partly his fault. Albert knew the thought was ridiculous, but not even his logic was able to absolve him of his guilt.

Charles looked him over before taking off his hooded sweater and handing it to him. “Here, why don’t you change out of that sweater?” 

He furrowed his brow as he studied the garment before his eyes flicked up to Charles’. “Are you sure?” 

“Of course, this flannel is fairly warm on its own anyway,”

Albert thanked him, gingerly took it from his outstretched hand, and made his way over to a nearby restroom to change. When he shut the door, he glanced at himself in the mirror and immediately regretted it. He looked away quickly and squeezed his eyes shut as he fought against the wave of nausea that came over him. The photographer knew he’d gotten Arthur’s blood on his shirt, but it wasn’t until now that he realized just how much of it had stained the fabric. He hastily removed the ruined sweater and threw it away.

Once he’d pulled Charles’ sweater over his head, he dared to look into the mirror and examined himself. The hooded sweater was swimming on him, but it was undoubtedly better than the blood-stained turtleneck. He ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it as much as he could and splashed some cold water on his face before rejoining Charles in the waiting room. 

“Thank you for letting me borrow this, it’s very nice,” he said as he took a seat.

Charles nodded. “Don’t mention it.”

“Where’d you get it? I’m not sure I’ve seen anything like it.” 

“I work loosely with a local program designed to help the youth around here, specifically the Alaska Natives. A family gave it to me to show their appreciation.” 

Albert paused as he registered the new information. “I didn’t know you did that. That’s wonderful, Charles.”

He shrugged. “It’s nothing, and it’s just barely part-time work.”

“What is it with you and Arthur selling yourselves short?” Albert huffed. “You’re making a difference in people’s lives, part-time or not, that’s admirable.”

Charles smiled. “You’re a good man, Albert. I’m glad you made the decision to come to Cairn all those weeks ago.”

The comment genuinely surprised him. “Really?”

“Yes, what made you decide on Cairn, anyway? You had plenty of other options.” 

“Well, it came up when I Googled 'beautiful towns that are underrated in Alaska', and I figured I could always take a day trip to Anchorage or Kenai.”

Charles shook his head. “Honestly, I never thought I’d hear the word ‘beautiful’ used to describe Cairn.”

“That’s fair. Weren’t the two of you forced to move here?” 

“Arthur had some choices, but you could say that. I only moved to support him. There was a lot for him to process after Richmond, and I wasn’t sure what he would do if left alone.”

"You're a wonderful friend, Charles, and I'm thankful you’ve stayed by Arthur’s side,"

He smiled. "Always."

A nurse came around the corner five minutes later looking for them. They rose to their feet, and when she mentioned that they were transferring Arthur to Anchorage, Albert slumped back into his seat and let his head fall into his hands. Charles thanked her for the information, told her they would be driving out there, and turned to Albert. 

“Come on, I’ll drive,” Charles said as he helped him onto his feet. He had no doubt that Arthur’s truck was a bloody mess, and he didn’t know if he could handle seeing that right now.

Albert didn’t hesitate to follow Charles out of the hospital, and he was relieved that he had offered to drive them to Anchorage. The photographer wasn’t sure how to get there from Cairn, and with cell reception being so spotty, he didn’t trust himself to find his way there successfully. They didn’t have the time to waste on being lost.

Charles drove his Chevy in silence, occasionally stealing a glance at Albert to keep an eye on him. He was crestfallen and despondent, and the first sound that finally broke the silence was Albert’s breath hitching.

“Albert?” 

“He’s going to die, isn’t he?”

Charles didn’t have an answer for that one. “I’m no doctor, but I know a transfer doesn’t necessarily mean he’s dying. Maybe Cairn’s hospital just doesn’t have the right tools to treat him.”

The photographer massaged his brow with his long fingers before pinching the bridge of his nose. There was a headache he couldn’t shake and he squeezed his eyes shut. “I lost my patience with him last night.”

“Arthur’s good at making people do that,” Charles replied lightly.

Albert shook his head. “He wanted to apologize, and I told him to wait until he was sober.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that. That was wise.”

“It might’ve been, but now I’m not so sure if I’ll ever be able to have another conversation with him again,”

Charles was quiet as he thought over his words and chose them carefully. “Whatever you said or did doesn’t erase what’s between you two. He cares deeply for you. Do you know how rare it is for Arthur to let his walls down like he has for you?”

Albert’s lips pressed into a thin line as he stared out the window, but Charles could see the emotion threatening to spill from his eyes. 

The two-hour drive to the hospital was painfully long, and they spent another torturous six hours in the waiting room before a nurse finally came over to them. His voice was gentle and low as he briefly described Arthur's condition. It wasn't good, but he was stable, and the relief the news brought nearly made Albert's knees buckle.

Arthur had pulled through.

The nurse asked if they wanted to see him, and Albert didn't hesitate to answer in the affirmative. 

"Is he awake?" Charles asked.

"Yes, and he's coherent, but he’s on some strong medication,”

Charles mulled the information over and glanced at Albert. They were both eager to see Arthur, but he had no doubt that Albert was unprepared for what he might see in Arthur’s recovery room. He decided to tell the gentleman to give them a minute, and Albert frowned at him, thoroughly confused by his hesitation. 

"Why did you tell him that?"

Charles drew a deep breath and met his gaze. "You should know before we go in that you might not be able to forget what we’re about to find."

He blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Arthur might have some devices and tubes attached to him, things that may not be easy to see."

Albert swallowed, steeled himself, and shook his head. "I _need_ to see him, Charles."

Charles nodded, and when the nurse came back, they followed him to the room Arthur was being kept in.

While Albert had put on a brave face, he was scared of the sight that was awaiting them. The hallway they walked down felt endless, and when the nurse stopped outside a door and gestured for them to enter the recovery room, Albert felt his stomach knot. He was relieved when Charles led the way, and he followed closely behind him. 

Arthur looked thoroughly exhausted. His eyes were half-lidded, and there was a deep crease between his brows as a nurse patiently moved his hand away from the oxygen tube splitter in his nose to keep him from fiddling with it. As Charles had warned him, there were a handful of tubes and wires connected to him, and he was grateful for the gown that covered the worst of it. Some were connected to devices that monitored his vitals while others seemed to be either drainage or IV tubes. It was no doubt a painful sight to behold, but Albert was glad that some color had returned to his face. 

Arthur glowered at the nurse as she gently reprimanded him about something else and Albert quietly chuckled at the interaction as he fought back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes, fondly noting that not even bullet wounds or emergency surgery could subdue the man's stubbornness. Arthur’s frown disappeared at the familiar sound, and a weak smile pulled at his lips as he looked up at the two of them.

“Al, Charles, it’s good to see you,” he said. His voice was gruffer than usual, and Albert tentatively made his way over to his side.

“How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Like shit,” he grunted. “Thanks for coming out all this way, Anchorage is a pain in the ass to get to.”

“There isn’t anywhere else we would rather be,” Charles said.

Arthur looked down at his pale blue gown and furrowed his brow in thought. “Guess it must’ve been pretty bad for them to transfer me, huh?”

Albert nodded as he took a seat beside his bed and took his hand in his. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

He gave his hand a feeble squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he pressed his lips against the back of his hand, “none of us saw this coming.”

Once Arthur’s registered nurse had finished assessing him, she told them she would be back in an hour to check on him again and to let her know if they needed anything. Albert thanked her, and Charles waited until she had left the room before he spoke. 

“You think you feel up to telling us what happened?” 

Arthur massaged his temple and closed his eyes. “I was stupid and let my guard down, that’s what happened.”

Albert frowned. “That’s not true!”

“You weren’t there,” he muttered.

Charles folded his arms across his chest. “When you were in New York, did you tell Micah where you were?”

“No,”

“Then it can’t be your fault. How did he know where to find you?”

He stared down at the IV tubes in his left arm, and Albert couldn’t help but notice the increase of his heart rate on the vital sign monitor. 

Charles’ expression softened, reading him like an open book. “Arthur?”

“Dutch told him,”

The room went so quiet that Albert swore he could’ve heard a pin drop. 

When Albert had finally found the right words, his phone rang. The sudden sound startled him, and he pulled it out of his back pocket to find that it was his parents. He glanced up at Charles and then at Arthur before he apologized and reluctantly excused himself from the room.

Charles drew a deep breath through his nose to calm himself. His rage toward Dutch was white-hot and greater than it had ever been. The man had nearly signed Arthur’s death warrant and was the reason why they were in the damn hospital in the first place. Charles didn’t care if it had been unintentional. It was no secret that Micah and Arthur hated each other, and Micah had always been far too comfortable with his violent tendencies.

He waited until he had calmed down to speak. “Dutch told him? What did he say?”

“Where I lived, what I drove, and who the hell knows what else.” He sighed and winced at the flare of pain it caused. “I should’ve just let that dealer shoot Micah in the head.”

Charles looked away, knowing how deeply it must’ve hurt for Arthur to hear that from Micah. He shook his head and met Arthur’s sad eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,”

“I’m proud of you for choosing to stay,”

Arthur didn’t have to ask to know what he was referring to, and he absentmindedly reached for his watch only to find that it had been removed. “I almost didn’t.”

“We would’ve missed you terribly. I’m not sure how Albert would’ve handled that.”

He looked away. “I know.”

“And who the hell knows what John would’ve done,”

He snorted. “Get himself found out, that’s what.”

“For sure, and I would’ve been the only one able to find your frozen ass and bury it properly.” While his tone was light, there was a glint of sadness in his eyes that the thought elicited.

Arthur’s brow furrowed, and he gestured for him to come closer as he increased the incline of his bed so he was sitting up more. He fought back a grimace and drew a deep breath in through his nose as his wounds protested against the movement. Charles gave him a chastising look for refusing to rest but gave in to the simple request anyway. When he was close enough, Arthur reached over and took hold of his hand.

“I really do appreciate all you’ve done for me, Charles. There aren’t enough words to express how thankful I am for you and how you treat Al.”

“Of course, Arthur,” he flashed a grin. “You know, I forgot how sentimental you get when you’re on narcotics.”

“Shut up,” he huffed as he shoved Charles’ hand away.

It was about twenty minutes later when Albert rejoined them. As tired as Arthur was, he could still tell that his phone conversation with his parents had affected him. He was quieter than usual, his eyes lowered to the floor as he sat in his chair once again. Charles exchanged a brief look with Arthur and withdrew his phone from his pocket a second later.

“I’m going to give John a call and let him know what happened,”

“Tell him that if he gets any wise ideas that I’m gonna do the law a favor and kill him myself,”

“I’d be more than happy to pass that along,”

Arthur smiled as he watched his friend exit the room before his eyes settled on Albert. “How are your parents? Is everything alright?”

He sighed as he fidgeted with his phone. “Physically? Yes, everything is quite alright. They had a safe flight back to New York, but apparently I had mentioned that they could stay the night before driving back home tomorrow morning.”

Arthur studied him. “So, what did they end up doing?”

“They’re currently in the middle of their four-hour drive to their home Upstate, although after letting me know how much of an inconvenience that was, they wanted to ask if everything was okay.”

“Did you tell them you’re in Alaska?”

“I did,” he paused as he traced a hairline crack on his phone’s screen, “I also told them about us. Nothing specific, mind you, but they’re aware.”

Arthur furrowed his brow in concern. “And?”

“They reacted how I expected. There was no yelling or anything you see in the movies, just disappointment.”

“I’m sorry, Al,”

He shrugged. “I hardly ever had my parents’ approval of anything in the first place, what difference does another disappointment make?”

Despite his even tone, Arthur could tell by the look in his eye that, contrary to Albert’s words, his parents’ reaction did bother him. With his shoulders slumped forward and his arms resting on his knees, it looked as if it weighed him down. Arthur lifted his arm and gingerly maneuvered it around all the wires and tubes to place his hand over Albert’s.

“Hey, we’ll get through this,”

Albert nodded and looked up at him. His eyes looked clearer as if he’d managed to compartmentalize the whole interaction. “My apologies, Arthur, I don’t mean to dump this on you when you’ve hardly recovered from your own trials that far outweigh mine,”

He scoffed but quickly regretted doing so with a wince. “This ain’t a competition. I might be bedridden for now, but I’m here for you.”

Albert gave him a soft smile and leaned over the hospital bed to gently press his lips against his forehead. “How did I ever manage to get lucky enough to meet you?”

“You’re good at finding trouble,” he smirked, “and I’m nothin’ but trouble.”

“No, you might attract it like a moth to a flame, but you are no trouble at all, Mr. Morgan,”

Arthur felt a warmth fill his heart, and he lifted his hand to brush Albert’s cheek with his knuckles. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve someone like Albert. Truth be told, he still didn’t feel like he deserved him. His thoughts wandered to the night before, and his brow furrowed as his guilt rose to the surface.

“Speaking of trouble, I never was able to apologize for my stupidity last night.”

“Please, Arthur, I think we’re past that incident now,”

“Doesn’t matter, I still want to say that I’m sorry. I should’ve told you how the bookstore was a painful reminder of the things Hosea and I would do, and I _especially_ should’ve told you that I was going to the bar instead of going behind your back.”

 Albert’s eyebrows pulled upwards. “I should’ve been more sensitive to that yesterday.”

“You didn’t know,” he said before his gaze shifted to the sweater Albert was wearing. “Ain’t that Charles’?” 

“It is,”

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards in an amused smile. “It’s _huge_ on you. It’s actually kinda cute.”

Albert laughed at the observation. “Is it?”

Arthur nodded. “Wish I had a scarf to give you like the one you gave me to hide those marks, though.”

“They’re not so bad, and honestly that’s the least of my worries right now,”

“I’m hoping’ that from here on out I won’t be giving you much to worry about. Maybe I’ll let the gang think that I’m dead.”

He studied Arthur, noting the dark circles that framed his heavy eyes. With a small smile, Albert gave him a peck on the cheek. “You should get some rest, Arthur. Between the two of us, you’ve been kept up long enough.”

For once, Arthur didn’t fight him on getting the rest he desperately needed, and the sleep that pulled him under was swift and deep. Although the rest he was able to get was interrupted every few hours as nurses and doctors checked in on him throughout the night. When he was roused from his sleep, he was thankful to find that Charles and Albert hadn’t left him alone. While there were times when only one of his companions were present, he was grateful that he always had the company of at least one of them. 

When Arthur awoke for the umpteenth time that morning, he shifted to get more comfortable and winced with the effort as his whole being seemed to radiate with pain. It took his breath away, and he hastily reached over for the button that increased the intravenous morphine. Once the pain had subsided, he gingerly lifted his hospital gown to assess the damage. It was as bad as he expected it to be, and there was no doubt in his mind that the wounds would leave nasty scars. Just the thought of having a permanent reminder of yesterday marking his body made him scowl. The other scars he could deal with, but knowing that the three of them came from Micah, of all people, disgusted him.

And the worst part, Arthur thought, was that Micah had gotten off scot-free.

The crease between his brows deepened, yet his anger vanished in an instant when he looked up and saw a beautiful bouquet on the table beside him. The sight stunned him at first, and he blinked as he tried to determine if the vibrant flowers were real. 

As he studied them, he realized that the arrangement was unique. Among some fern leaves were clusters of white jasmine and baby’s breath with gardenias and tall lavender flowers. It was beautiful, and he racked his brain as he tried to figure out who it was from. Arthur looked up to find Charles asleep in a chair and decided that the mystery could wait. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Albert enter the room with a cardboard tray that had three Starbucks coffee cups in it. The photographer flashed him a smile as he set the tray down on the table. 

“My apologies, Arthur, I meant to have this here before you awoke. I hope you like the bouquet I made you.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. It had never crossed his mind that Albert was the kind of person to give flowers. “ _You_ made that?” 

“Well, I told the local florist what I wanted, but yes,”

“It’s amazing,”

Albert handed him one of the cups of coffee. “Thank you! I wanted to make sure you had the right flowers in your arrangement.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “The right flowers?” 

“Of course! Each flower has a meaning. You can’t just pick flowers willy-nilly and put them together because you think they look nice. But perhaps I am a bit _too_ old fashioned.”

Arthur chuckled and fought back a grunt as his hand went up to clutch his chest. “I reckon I’m well overdue for a lesson on flower meanings.”

He scratched the back of his neck as his gaze flicked over to the flowers. “Well, the lavender means devotion, and the white jasmine combined with the baby’s breath represents sweet and everlasting love.”

His heart skipped a beat at that. “And the gardenia?” 

“It means you’re lovely,”

He felt his face flush as he looked down at his coffee. “I dunno about that last one, Al. You haven’t seen the mess underneath this gown yet.”

“Do I really need to remind you of the things I told you yesterday?” He smirked.

“Please save that for the bedroom,” Charles teased.

Arthur hadn’t noticed that his friend had awoken at some point during their conversation, and his face turned a darker shade of red. Although, he did find comfort in the fact that Albert looked just as embarrassed. 

“I didn’t realize you were awake, Charles,” Albert stammered as he handed him one of the other coffees. 

Charles thanked him and took a sip of his coffee. “I was just resting my eyes.”

“How’d you know that was somethin’ private he was talkin’ about anyway?” Arthur asked.

“Come on, Arthur, did you really think I hadn’t noticed the fresh hickeys on his neck?” 

Arthur made a face at him and brought his cup of coffee to his lips instead of replying.

“Anyways,” Albert started, clearly uncomfortable with the awkward silence, “I hope the two of you don’t mind Starbucks. It’s nothing like that one coffee shop in Cairn, but I figured anything is better than hospital coffee.”

“It’s perfect, Al, thank you,” Arthur said.

“Of course,” 

“So, do any of you know when I’ll be able to get outta here?” 

“I was chatting with your nurse and she said that if everything keeps looking good for the next two weeks, that you should be out of here by the sixteenth of December. They’re mostly monitoring you for any infection and to make sure you heal correctly.” Albert replied.

“Shit,” Arthur said as he ran a hand over his face, “is it really December already?”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” 

He mulled over the information before shaking his head. “I’m gonna go damn near insane being cooped up here.”

As Albert and Charles laughed, Arthur couldn’t help but grin. While the road to recovery would be long, excluding John, he couldn’t think of any two people he’d rather have by his side to support him.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow friends! I can't believe we've almost reached the end! This is absolutely mind-blowing to me and it makes me so happy to hear that you all are enjoying this fic! Thank you all for your wonderful comments <3 
> 
> Also, if you ever want to request a prompt or something, feel free to send me a message on Tumblr! Link is in my bio


	18. Arcadia

Arthur chewed lightly on the end of a toothpick as he sat in one of his dining room chairs. With a deep frown, he watched as Charles and Albert moved boxes of his packed belongings, hating how useless he was. The doctor had instructed him to avoid lifting anything heavier than five pounds, and both his companions had adamantly enforced that weight limit. To add insult to injury, the doctor had also forbidden him from smoking to ensure his lungs healed completely. Arthur thought it was all a pain in the ass, and Albert had read every word of the ridiculous seven-page packet that had been given to him upon discharge yesterday. 

While Arthur had been recovering for two weeks in the hospital, Albert and Charles had been working hard to sell both homes. The plan, they decided, was to move out to a place near Colorado Springs, Colorado. Not only had they pulled it off, but they had also somehow managed to buy another house in a nearby small town called Manitou Springs.

Arthur’s stare shifted to a moving box by his feet. It seemed light enough, and he glanced up at Charles and Albert. When he knew they were looking away, he tried pushing it with the end of his cane and instantly regretted it. Even with the heavy pain medication, his wounds were still tender, and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to his hands that were resting on the top of his cane as the wave of pain slowly subsided. When he finally caught his breath, he lifted his head to find Albert standing in front of him with a concerned look on his face.

“What did you do?” He demanded. 

“I tried pushing that damned box, that’s what,” Arthur retorted.

Albert frowned. “That ‘damned box’ is full of vinyl records you never bothered to unpack.”

“Thought it looked familiar,” he snorted. 

He ran his hands over his face and massaged his eyes briefly before shaking his head. “Arthur Morgan, what am I going to do with you?” 

A lopsided smirk twisted his lips. “You could always dump me on the side of the road and hope some other poor soul takes me in.”

Albert placed a hand over his heart, although there was no mistaking the glint of amusement in his eye. “I would never!”

"Just remember to put breathing holes in the box,”

He laughed as he picked up the box of records. “As you wish!”

When Charles and Albert eventually decided to take a break, Arthur had offered to make them lunch, but they both turned him down.

“I appreciate the offer, but the two of us have homework to do, and I know for a fact that Albert is a better cook,” Charles said as he took a seat beside Arthur with a pen and paper in his hand.

“What do you mean, homework?”

“The plan is to let the gang believe that you’re dead, correct?”

He nodded.

“Then that makes it my job to, unfortunately, corroborate with Micah, and since you’re the one who heard that bastard's plan, you have to help. Whatever we write has to align with whatever the hell he’s told Dutch.”

Arthur muttered under his breath. Charles was right, but he hated the fact that freeing himself from Dutch’s watchful eye also meant helping Micah get away with attempted murder. “Fine, let’s get this over with.”

As the two of them worked on Charles’ letter, Albert decided to help by going through miscellaneous piles of paper that needed sorting. He wasn’t sure what Arthur wanted to take to Colorado, but he figured sorting the various envelopes and documents would help speed up the process. There was about two week’s worth of unopened envelopes in the mix, and with Arthur’s permission, he threw away the ones that were junk mail. However, there was one in particular that caught his eye. Arthur’s name was written in a lovely script, lovelier than Arthur’s handwriting, and his brow furrowed in curiosity as he examined the envelope. 

His eyes flicked up to Arthur, who was massaging his brow. Albert had tuned out from the conversation the two men were having, but it was clear that it was frustrating both of them. He decided to walk over and cleared his throat before holding out the letter.

“I apologize for interrupting, but I found this in the pile of your most recent mail.” 

Arthur lifted his head from his hands, and his expression instantly fell as his eyes settled on the cursive. Charles tensed as well, his gaze shifting to Arthur as he gauged his friend’s reaction. Arthur eventually took the letter from his hand. However, he didn’t open it immediately. Instead, he continued to sit where he was as if frozen in place. 

Charles gave him a moment before he finally gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “This can wait if you want to open it. We have at least three days worth of traveling ahead of us to figure out what to write to Dutch.”

He nodded and excused himself before retreating to his room and shutting the door behind him.

Arthur had recognized the handwriting instantly as Hosea’s, and when he opened it, he found another sealed envelope inside addressed to John along with a handwritten letter. Arthur steeled himself with a deep breath and sat down on the edge of his bed as he read.

 

_Hello Arthur,_

_If you’re reading this, then I am terribly sorry. Lenny has been holding onto this letter since early November for safekeeping and was instructed to send this to you only if something happened to me._

_It’s no secret my time is coming to an end. There’s a part of me that thinks its lung cancer, and I’m sure you’re asking yourself why this old coot didn’t seek treatment if he knew something was wrong. As I told you before, we all have to die of something eventually, and at this age, I just don’t see the point in chemotherapy or surgery. Both treatments take time, and time is a luxury we simply can't afford right now._

_I’m sorry it had to end this way. You and John deserve so much more than a measly handwritten goodbye letter. As difficult as this may be, don’t you dare consider blaming yourself for any of it. I know how you can get, and none of us saw any of this coming. Dutch has changed, and I tried everything in my power to tear him away from the ledge he's been so damn determined to jump from._

_If you haven’t already, Arthur, leave the gang behind you. There’s nothing more you can do for it, and Dutch will only bring you down with him. He’s chosen his path, and I can only hope you’ve chosen differently despite everything._

_Regardless, words cannot express how proud I am of the man you’ve become. It feels like it was just yesterday that Dutch convinced me to let him take in an unruly teen. Looking back, I can say with confidence that was the best decision I’ve ever made. Underneath it all, you’ve always been gentle and kind, and I’m thankful that those traits have stood the test of time despite life’s circumstances. Stay loyal to what matters, and I have no doubt you’ll be alright._

_If you haven’t noticed already, I’ve included another note to John. You’re the only one who knows his whereabouts, and I trust that you’ll deliver it when you get the chance._

_I love you, Arthur. Always have and always will. Try not to grieve for me too much, you have much better things to do with your time._

_Hosea_

 

He read the letter again but had to set it aside to keep his tears from landing on the paper. Arthur rested his head in his hands as the tears flowed freely. He hadn’t allowed himself to grieve since the funeral, and now it was all pouring forth against his will. 

Arthur wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he heard a light knock on his door. Using his sleeve, he tried to dry his face as much as he could as the door opened a hair.

“Arthur? May I come in?” He heard Albert ask.

“Sure,” his voice was gruff, and he tried to fix it by clearing his throat. 

He stared at his feet as the photographer sat beside him. Albert said nothing at first, and the only thing that disrupted the silence was the occasional sniff from Arthur. Drawing a deep breath, Albert looked over at the man beside him.

Between his tear-stained cheeks and puffy sorrowful eyes, there was no doubt that Arthur had been crying. Yet when Arthur noticed Albert's sympathetic gaze, he forced a small smile before meeting his eyes.

“I guess those side effects of those pain meds are kickin’ in,” he mused.

Albert gently took his hand in his, knowing fully well that the prescription the doctor had given him had no impact on mood. “Charles told me that the letter was from Hosea.”

His smile fell as he looked away.

“He knew he was dying, didn’t he?” 

Arthur nodded.

Albert gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

“I miss him so much, Al,” he said quietly, “I wish you could’ve met him.”

“I wish I could’ve too, he sounded like a wonderful man,”

“He was,”

Albert was quiet for a while before he spoke again. “Charles and I finished packing the moving truck. There was even enough room left for the Bronco.”

He shook his head. “Leave it. The upholstery is ruined.”

“Well, not quite. When Charles went back to get a few things for all of us while you were in the hospital, he got the upholstery replaced, too.”

He blinked. “He did what?”

“Charles had your car cleaned up for you,”

Arthur smiled, genuinely this time. “You two are the best, thank you.”

Albert returned his smile and kissed him on the cheek. “Of course! Anything for you.”

 

Arthur read over the letter Charles had written before glancing up at the snow-covered plains around him. After driving for fourteen hours that day, he had lost track of where they were, and the endless snowy open country made it seem like they hadn’t made any progress. It also didn't help that he had grown accustomed to living in places with distinct land features. The midwest feel like one massive, flat landmass, and Arthur was grateful that they were moving somewhere with a view of the mountains. Albert had taken the time to show him the listing on Zillow before he left to catch his flight back to New York to pack his belongings that were still in his apartment. The log home sat at the foot of the rocky mountains between Pikes Peak and Ormes Peak, and the pictures of both the interior and exterior were stunning. For the first time in a long while, Arthur found himself looking forward to uprooting from a place he’d felt settled into.

The sound of the moving truck’s door opening pulled Arthur’s attention away from the window, and he looked over to find Charles settling in behind the driver’s seat. 

“You know, it’s nice that gas is a full dollar cheaper down here,” he said.

“I'm sure,” he replied. “Say, why don’t you let me drive for a bit?”

Charles scoffed to himself. “You aren’t allowed to drive for another week, especially with that gunshot wound being in your right leg.”

“It ain’t that bad!” He huffed.

“I appreciate your two cents, but the doctor’s instructions trump what you think,” 

Arthur muttered under his breath. “Ain’t you tired?”

He shook his head. “I got plenty of rest in Calgary, and I have another energy drink in the side-door compartment if I need it.”

“Whatever, just know it ain’t my fault if we end up on the side of the road,”

Charles rolled his eyes as he pulled back onto Interstate 25. “Anyway, Mr. Melodrama, what did you think of the letter?”

“It’s a little stiff and formal, don’t you think?” He asked as he looked down at the words Charles had written. “I regret to inform you? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say something like that.”

“Because that’s how I write, Arthur, and unlike you, I graduated high school.” 

The cheeky quip earned him a slap on the shoulder with the folded map on the dashboard. “Smartass!” 

Charles chuckled. “So other than that, did it sound okay? Everything line up with what Micah said?” 

“Unfortunately,” he sighed. “I hope that sonuvabitch rots in hell someday.”

“Me too, but at least we don’t have to worry about him anymore,”

“Thank God,” Arthur said as he leaned back against his seat.

It took them almost four more hours to reach their destination, and as they drove down the private road, Arthur could barely sit still. Between being cooped up in the hospital for two weeks, not being allowed to do much of anything, and nearly four days of traveling, he felt as if he might burst if he had to sit much longer.

The white Honda Fit parked in the driveway was a sight for sore eyes. Arthur smiled, and by the time Charles had come around to help him out of the truck, Albert had joined them outside to greet them. 

“Arthur! Charles! I’m glad you made it safe and sound! How was your drive?” 

“Long,” Arthur groaned as he leaned on his cane as Charles shut the door for him. 

“Oh, I’m sure! I can only imagine how long it took you two. Three days? Four?” 

“About four,” Charles replied. “Although it felt longer with this one complaining the whole way.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Arthur muttered. 

Charles only shook his head, a smug grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

“Why don’t you two come inside? It’s not as cold as Alaska, but it’s still brisk.” Albert suggested. 

They followed him inside where Arthur found that the bigger furniture pieces had been included in the deal. The place was the textbook definition of the word rustic, and the thing that surprised him the most was the modest Christmas tree that was already lit and decorated by the floor to ceiling stone fireplace. As he looked around, he noticed that garland had been wrapped around the mantel and banisters.

“Did you do all this?” Arthur asked as he turned to Albert.

“I did!” He beamed. “Christmas Eve is in two days, after all. I thought it would be a nice surprise.” 

Arthur could only smile as he took in the sight of the Christmas tree again. He couldn't recall the last time he'd had decorations for Christmas, and he certainly hadn't been in the mood to celebrate the holiday last year. The last few months of the previous year had been overshadowed by court trials and Dutch working to get him out of prison. It had taken another month to get Arthur settled in Alaska, and by then his mood had been anything but pleasant. At the time, the mere thought of celebrating a holiday that focussed on joy and giving had left him with a bad taste in his mouth.

This year, however, was different. Even in the face of loss, Arthur found his heart lighter despite it all. It was easier for him to see the good in his life, and he was especially grateful for the people he had by his side. 

“It looks amazing, Al,” he finally said.

“Thank you! Why don’t you sit and watch some TV while Charles and I help move in the essentials?” 

Arthur sighed, although he gingerly took a seat regardless. As Charles and Albert set to work, Arthur flicked through the channels for something to watch. Yet the longer he skimmed the channels, the heavier his eyelids felt, and it wasn't long before he gave in to sleep.

When Albert and Charles had moved most of what was in the truck’s trailer, he glanced over at the couch to find Arthur sound asleep. The photographer smiled at the sight and joined Charles in the kitchen to get dinner started. The two of them had agreed that a simple and healthy dinner would be best. While Charles had tried to stop at actual restaurants along the way to make sure Arthur was eating well, it hadn’t been easy. There were times when all they were able to have for dinner was a bag of beef jerky and whatever else they had bought at the last gas station. Albert had suggested making a chicken and vegetable soup, but the suggestion required a grocery run. Albert, however, was more than willing to make the trip. His journey had only taken a day and a half, and he had been at the house for two days now. It was only fair that Charles was given a moment to rest when Albert was more than capable of running the errand.

It was almost seven in the evening when the soup was finally ready, and as Albert made his way over to Arthur, he found that he was still asleep. He smiled to himself as he sat down beside him and gently brushed his hair out of his face. Arthur’s hair was getting long, and his beard was nearly as thick as his own. Usually, the gentle touch was enough to rouse him. Yet the pain killers and the long road trip had made Arthur’s sleep unusually deep. Albert leaned forward and pressed his lips against Arthur’s forehead before rubbing his bicep. The combination made Arthur stir, but his eyes remained closed.

“Come on, Arthur, dinner’s ready,” Albert hummed quietly.

His response was a series of grunts and mutterings, which only made the photographer chuckle.

“You’ve got to eat something!” 

“Later,” he mumbled.

“You’ll have plenty of time to sleep later, but first you’re going to get something nutritious in you to help your body heal,”

Arthur muttered under his breath as Albert helped him onto his feet before leading him to the dining room. As he settled into one of the high-backed dining chairs, Charles placed a bowl of soup in front of him. 

When he'd finished, he excused himself and rose to his feet with a wince, his wounds warning him that the pain killers were starting to wear off. "Do either of you know where my prescriptions are?"

"They're in our bedroom. I'll show you where it is."

Hearing Albert refer to the room as their's made Arthur smile as he followed him up the stairs and down the hall before entering a bedroom to the left. Albert unzipped a backpack that had been set on the bed and handed Arthur the prescribed dose and a water bottle.

“Thanks, Al,”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied. “Do you need help getting ready for bed?” 

He shrugged as he downed the pills and set aside the water bottle on a nearby nightstand. “It’s just the shirt I still have trouble with.”

Arthur watched as Albert started unbuttoning the shirt without another word. He took a moment to appreciate the soft waves of his brown hair and the gentle curve of his cheeks before searching his warm hazel eyes. The tender moment felt unreal to him as if this were a dream he would eventually wake up from. There was a part of him that believed this new life was too good to be true. After all, there was a whole world Albert was leaving behind if he were to stay in Colorado, and Arthur didn't think he could possibly mean that much to the photographer. 

“When do you head back to New York?”

Albert's hands faltered as he undid the last button. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Don’t you got people to say goodbye to? Work that you gotta finish up?”

He blinked. “I took care of that before driving out here.”

"You ain't going back to celebrate Christmas with your family?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I thought about it, but when I asked if I could bring you along, they were adamant that our annual Christmas party was a family only event." He shook his head. "Of course, I'm sure Heather's boyfriend will be invited."

Arthur gave him a sympathetic look. "I appreciate the thought, Al, but if you want to spend Christmas with them, I don't mind staying here. I don't think I could handle another road trip or flight right now anyway."

"And spend Christmas miserable as my family questions my life choices?" The grin he flashed him was tight and forced. "I'd rather not celebrate Christmas at all if it meant I'd be with you, thank you very much!"

"Well it ain't got to be that way," he chuckled. 

"I know, I only say that for the sake of argument,"

"Sure, but don't you think you might be rushin' into all this? You're leaving a whole life behind you, Al."

Albert shook his head as he helped him shrug out of his shirt. “You let me be the judge of that. Life in New York was certainly entertaining at times, but overall, it was lackluster. It was like I could never find my niche, and I think that’s because my place is by your side, if you’ll have me. The last thing I want to do is force myself onto you.”

“Yes,” Arthur’s reply was automatic and sudden, and he cleared his throat before continuing. “Yes, if that’s how you truly feel, I want you here, more than anything.”

He smiled and leaned forward to capture Arthur’s lips in a kiss. It was different feeling Arthur’s fuller beard brush against his lips. He noted that it wasn’t unpleasant, and it was certainly something he could get used to. As he started to pull away, Arthur’s hand went up to the back of his head to pull him back in for another long and tender kiss. Albert couldn’t remember when he had closed his eyes, but he found himself opening them again when he felt Arthur eventually part.

When their eyes met, Arthur smiled as he held Albert’s face in his hands, and Albert couldn’t help but notice how warm his gaze was. “I’m sorry, it’s been too long since we last did that.”

Albert laughed. “Please, don’t ever apologize for kissing me!”

Their mirth, however, was short-lived as Albert helped remove Arthur’s tank top. He grimaced as the garment was lifted over his head, the upward movement of his arms pulling at his injuries. Albert’s smile fell as he looked over the dressings covering his two wounds. Arthur sighed and lifted Albert’s chin to meet his eyes.

“Hey, I can get Charles to do this part,”

Albert shook his head. “No, I want to help.”

“You _have_ been helping,”

“Please, Arthur, I want to do this for you,”

Arthur gave him a skeptical look. “It ain’t pretty.” He warned. 

“I don’t care how it looks, I care that it’s you and that you’re still alive,”

He studied him before finally nodding, and Albert drew a steadying breath before he began removing the old bandages. The healing skin underneath still looked angry and tender, although he was thankful that there was no sign of infection. He headed towards the bathroom to wash his hands and had Arthur follow him so he could properly clean the healing wounds.

Arthur studied his fully exposed torso in the mirror and his brow furrowed at the shimmery pink skin. The injuries were already starting to scar, and he hated it, hated how he’d have the reminder carved into his skin for the rest of his life. With his gaze still focused on the mirror, Arthur watched Albert’s hand come up to the side of his face. The photographer then turned his head away from the reflection. He watched Albert as he finished applying the new dressings to his thigh and chest before the photographer offered him a small smile.

“Do you know what I see when I look at your new scars?”

Arthur shook his head.

“I see two more scars that mark an incredibly brave and strong man. A man who fought for his life against all the odds and came out on the other side standing tall.”

“Al,” his breath caught in his throat as his eyes dropped to the ground, “that ain’t who I am.”

“But it is, I mean, how else would you be standing here alive and well?”

Arthur lifted his eyes to meet Albert’s again, although there was a glint of amusement in his blue eyes that wasn’t there before. "I s'pose the same could be said for you. You've come a long way yourself."

“What do you mean?” 

“A month ago you nearly passed out from the sight of your own stitches, yet, just now, you didn’t even pale.” He smirked.

Albert rolled his eyes and gave his arm a playful flick. “I was trying to be romantic!”

“And by now you should know that romance ain’t my strong suit!”

“Just like everything else, you’re better at it than you think,” he replied as he folded his arms across his chest. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Albert helped Arthur get into a comfortable shirt to sleep in before supporting Arthur as he removed his pants and helped him into a pair of sweatpants. Arthur then gingerly lied down on the bed and made himself comfortable 

The photographer sat down beside him and gently ran his hands through the long, sandy strands of Arthur’s hair. He continued the motion until the man had fully relaxed, his eyes half-closed like he could fall asleep at any second. 

“I’m not sure what I would’ve done if I’d lost you, Arthur,”

He held back the initial self-deprecating quip that was on his tongue and smiled instead. “Yeah, I thought I’d save you the trouble of figuring that one out by stickin’ around.”

“Thank you,” he said, “I’m going to help Charles clean up the dishes, but I’ll be up in an hour or so. Get some sleep.”

Arthur nodded and he slipped into a deep sleep before Albert even left the room.

 

Arthur admired the thick blanket of snow that covered the Rocky Mountains as he leaned against the deck railing. Each pine tree had been dusted with a fresh coat of snow from the night before, making the sight before him resemble a winter wonderland. It was like a scene taken right out of a Hallmark Christmas card, and Arthur couldn’t help but smile to himself. It was bitterly cold, yet the beautiful landscape that surrounded him provided its own warmth in a way. He found it to be a curious thing that he couldn’t explain, causing him to feel a contentedness that he couldn’t describe. It had been a long time since he’d felt so at ease. It almost made him giddy. The concoction of such pleasant emotions was a strange one, and the intensity of each made him lightheaded. Although he found that he didn’t mind.

Arthur absentmindedly chewed on the end of a toothpick as his eyes flicked up to the pale blue morning sky. However, he wasn’t lost in thought for long before he heard the back door open behind him. It was shortly after that he felt arms wrap around his waist. 

“Merry Christmas, Arthur!”

He smiled from ear to ear and turned to face Albert. “Merry Christmas.”

Albert planted a kiss on the corner of his mouth before taking Arthur’s hands in his. “Your hands are absolutely freezing! Don’t you think it’s about time you came inside?”

“It’s beautiful out here,”

“It is, but that doesn’t make it any less cold,” Albert replied with a grin. “Come inside. I’d hate for you to catch a cold while you’re still trying to recover. If taking deep breaths is already painful, I can only imagine what a cough would feel like.”

“Alright, Al,", he said as he flicked his toothpick over the railing, "I’m coming,”

Albert’s smile widened. “Good, Charles and I are just about done making breakfast and there’s a surprise waiting for you inside.”

Arthur cocked his head at that as he followed the photographer. He wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but the moment he stepped inside it all suddenly made sense to him. Arthur stopped in his tracks as his eyes landed on the Marstons. Jack was the first to catch his eye. The boy had grown several inches since he last saw him, and he was overflowing with excitement. As he took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack, Arthur felt a warm fondness overflowing from his heart at the sight. It had been too long since he’d seen the boy, and Abigail chatting with Charles and John around the kitchen island while holding a cup of coffee in her hands was a sight for sore eyes. 

It didn’t take Jack long to realize Arthur had entered the house. His eyes flew wide, and his smile took over his face as he barreled over to Arthur, hardly slowing down as he collided and hugged him tightly. Arthur concealed his grimace behind a smile, but there was no stopping the grunt that escaped him. While Arthur was grateful that the boy hadn’t wrapped his arms around any of his wounds, the pain elicited from the impact of his collision had been enough to make his lungs seize.

“Uncle Arthur! I missed you so much!” 

“I’ve missed you too, kid,” he said as he ruffled his hair and returned his embrace.

“Careful, Jack!” Abigail chided. “Uncle Arthur has a few...boo-boos.”

He quickly let go after he was given the reminder, his smile dropping and a hint of fear glinting in his eyes. “Sorry!”

Arthur pulled him back in for another hug and rubbed his back. “S’okay. You know, I think your hug made them feel better!”

“Really?”

“Of course! That’s the best I’ve felt all week.”

Jack’s smile returned with ease as he rubbed his face against his flannel shirt. “Your shirt’s so soft!”

The shirt was indeed one of his softer ones as it was brand new and had been a gift from Albert. Arthur glanced over at the photographer and flashed him a smile. “You like it, Jack? It’s from Mr. Mason.”

Jack looked up at Albert. “It’s nice!” 

“I thought so too. You have excellent taste, Jack!” Albert chuckled.

“Thanks!”

Abigail was next to make her way to Arthur’s side as she gave him a gentle hug only a mother could give. “It’s good to see you, Arthur.”

“Likewise, it’s been too long,” he said.

She offered him a tight smile as she pulled away as if she was fighting back tears. For a brief moment, there was a wordless exchange between the two of them. There weren’t any right words, not any that she could say in front of Jack without worrying him, but Arthur could sense all that she wanted to say. As much as Arthur had his tendencies, John had his own, and Arthur could only imagine how his brother had taken the news Charles had given him. Judging by Abigail’s misty eyes, it hadn’t been good, and Arthur couldn’t help but feel guilty for the worry he’d caused them.

John made his way over and carefully hugged him around his neck. “C’mere you idiot.”

Arthur rolled his eyes as he wrapped his arms around him. “Takes one to know one.”

He scoffed. “Whatever, I’m glad you’re alive.”

A grin pulled at the corner of Arthur’s mouth as he let go and turned to Abigail. “I reckon you’ve met Albert already?”

“I have, and he’s very sweet. The two of you make a lovely pair,” she said.

Albert scratched the back of his neck, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. “Thank you!”

Albert and Jack helped set the table for breakfast as Charles and John carried over the dishes they had made. Arthur had tried to help, but when he had rested his cane against a cabinet, Abigail was quick to correct him and shooed him out of the kitchen to his seat at the table. While he had followed her instructions, it wasn’t without complaint as he muttered under his breath. He despised the fact that he had to sit on the sidelines. Helping had been his source of self-worth for the longest time, and being unable to do so frustrated him to no end. Old habits were hard to kill. 

She had noticed this, of course, and she gently massaged his shoulders before helping Jack set the forks and knives in the correct order. Albert had tried to tell her that it was fine, and Arthur’s mood quickly lifted at the amusing sight. He tried to stifle a chuckle as Abigail ever so patiently put Jack in charge of passing out napkins instead. The boy was clearly having difficulty placing the silverware, and it would undoubtedly take Jack all morning to finish the task.

Arthur shouldn't have been as surprised as he was by how wonderful breakfast turned out, but it was more than he had expected that morning. Everything was delicious, from the bacon to the croissants, and even the hashbrowns. Not even Pearson's cooking could live up to the combined cooking skills of Charles and Albert, and Arthur concluded that he was spoiled to have such incredibly talented companions. 

Arthur found himself overwhelmed by the beautifully simple moment. He had found something wonderful, had stumbled upon it all without trying. Arthur had dragged his feet when he'd moved out to Alaska with Charles, and meeting Albert had been dumb luck or fate, and as resentful as he was over what happened at Lake Isabella, the incident had certainly been the catalyst that had moved the three of them out to Colorado.

He tried to disguise the hitch in his breathing by clearing his throat. It had mostly gone unnoticed, but shortly after, Arthur felt Albert take hold of his hand underneath the table. He looked up at the photographer who was studying him with a concerned look and flashed him a lopsided grin to reassure him he was okay. The carefree smile made Albert feel better, but he still had his doubts.

Charles, John, Abigail, and Jack eventually began to trickle into the living room. Arthur could hear the three of them starting to chat as Jack played with a few of the new toys he’d received earlier that day. After Albert had helped Arthur onto his feet, he had started to join the others when he felt Arthur grab his arm.

“I got a little somethin’ for you,” he said.

Albert furrowed his brow. The man was oddly unsure of himself and suddenly sheepish, and it piqued his curiosity. “You really didn’t have to do that, Arthur. When did you even find the time to get something?”

“Charles helped,” he grinned, regaining his confidence, “I owe him big time.”

“Goodness, love, even when you’re on the road to recovery, you’re determined to put others first,”

He shook his head. “You’re seein’ things that ain’t there again. Gettin’ you something was the least I could do.”

“Arthur Morgan, you don’t owe me anything. There’s no debt you have to pay here. We’re in this together, and whatever the cost is of what we have, it’s worth every cent.”

Arthur kissed his temple before resting his forehead against Albert’s. “Have I ever told you how much you mean to me?”

“You have, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it again,”

“The world, Al, you mean the world to me and more,”

Albert smiled as he followed Arthur down the hall and into a spare bedroom. He rested his cane against the wall as he opened a drawer and pulled out a box that was neatly wrapped in green wrapping paper with a gold ribbon around it. 

“Charles did the wrapping since my wrapping skills are shit,” Arthur said as he held his gift out to Albert.

He laughed. “I’m sure they’re just fine! You’re too hard on yourself!”

“Trust me, John and Charles will even back me on this one. It’s the truth.”

“I trust Charles’ opinion more than I do John’s, but you’ll have to let me be the judge of that one.”

“Maybe one day,” he chuckled, “go ahead, open it.”

Albert gingerly pulled the string loose before gently unwrapping it. He glanced up at Arthur once all the paper had been pulled off to find the man was watching with bated breath, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. Albert smiled at the sight before finally opening the box.

Albert could hardly believe his eyes, and he nearly dropped the box. He blinked, then took a double-take. In the box was the same pocket watch he’d seen back in New York all those weeks ago, and his eyes widened as they darted up to meet Arthur’s. “Oh, Arthur! I—is this? Good heavens, did you really?” 

“Yeah, while you were on one of your coffee runs, I had Charles call that antique store and see what they could do about getting it sent out to Alaska. It took some haggling, but Charles managed to get it all worked out for me.”

Flabergasted didn’t nearly begin to describe Albert’s surprise. “I...I don’t know what to say, this had to have cost you an arm and a leg for sure! And all I got you was a few measly flannels—”

“This ain’t a competition!” He interrupted. “I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you, especially after all the shit you’ve put up with.”

Albert gave him a disapproving look for the comment. “A lot has happened, yes, but that’s certainly not how I would phrase it.”

He scoffed. “Then how _would_ you phrase it?” 

“This has just been a," he waved his hand as he searched for the right word, "a quest!”

“A _quest?_ ” 

“Indeed!” Albert replied. “Perhaps even a quest for Arcadia, and everyone knows any quest worth pursuing has its challenges.”

Arthur laughed, and Albert couldn’t help but join him in his amusement. “Well, if that’s the case, I have appreciated your company and support throughout this quest, and honestly, I’m impressed you’ve stuck it out this long.”

“You, good sir, underestimate my grit!”

“More like sheer stubbornness," he teased, "but really, I just wanted to get you something special for Christmas.”

“I truly appreciate it, Arthur,” he said, “there are no words to express how much this means to me, but this just might do the trick.”

Albert lightly grasped Arthur's chin and pulled him in for a kiss. When their lips met, he moved his hand to cup Arthur's bearded jaw. It was intended to be brief, but Arthur had already parted his mouth to deepen it. Albert was happy to oblige, and a second later, he felt Arthur tenderly exploring his mouth. He heard Arthur take a deep breath in through his nose a moment later, and the action was immediately followed by a sharp hitch in his breathing as he tensed and pulled away abruptly. 

"Arthur?" He asked as he looked him over with worry.

"I'm fine," he gritted out, "just forget sometimes."

"Have you taken your prescription?"

He nodded. 

Albert studied him, noting the way Arthur drew controlled breaths through his nose, and he was painfully reminded how this wasn't Arthur's first time being this hurt, although he certainly hoped this would be his last. Arthur met his watchful gaze and offered a smile.

"Really, Al, I'm okay,"

"Are you sure?"

He rolled his eyes and smiled. "Yes, for the love, would you quit worryin’? I only need a second."

“I’m afraid that’s easier said than done,” he sighed. “It wasn’t easy seeing you so injured, and I guess I’m still trying to process the fact that you almost died.”

His smile dropped. It was easy to forget that it wasn’t normal to have so many close encounters with death. Arthur was familiar with death, both from nearly experiencing it himself a handful of times and by watching it take away people he knew. He gently pulled Albert into a hug, his hand idly rubbing his back.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even consider that,”

“That isn’t your fault, we haven’t really talked about it,” Albert said as he rested his head against his shoulder. Arthur’s embrace was warm and secure, and it was everything he needed it to be as memories of their time at the hospital came rushing back to him.

Arthur continued to run his hand up and down the photographer’s back. “Whether we’ve talked about it or not, I should’ve paid more attention.” 

“It’s fine, really, I just...I know I can be an anxious mess, and I’m trying to get better, but seeing you like that was...alarming, to say the least.”

“Well, I can assure you that you won’t ever have to see me like that again. Charles sent out that letter yesterday, and once Dutch gets it, any and all bridges left will be burned.”

The photographer relaxed at that, and when he eventually pulled away, his cheeks were glistening with tears. Arthur’s brows pulled together as he used his thumbs to gently wipe them away before using his sleeve to dry his cheeks. Albert smiled as he held his calloused hand to his face, leaning into the touch.

Arthur mirrored his smile and pressed his lips to his forehead. “C’mon, the others are probably starting to wonder what we’re doing, and if we stay here any longer, John will no doubt rib me.”

He laughed as he tucked the pocket watch away in his pocket, and the two of them rejoined the others in the living room. While John didn’t say anything, he made a point to make eye contact with Arthur. His expression was full of mirth, and Arthur’s only reply was a warning look.

With their move to Colorado being last minute, Christmas dinner was a simple meal. Abigail had offered to help, but everyone except Jack and Albert had, in unison, urged her to relax instead and to let Albert and Charles do the work. She folded her arms across her chest and feigned an indignant look, but the smirk twisting the corner of her mouth gave away her amusement.

When they’d finished, Abigail invited the three of them to join her, John, and Jack for a visit to a nearby town that was rumored to have the best Christmas lights in the area. Or at least that was what John had heard. They were happy to come along, and Arthur made his way over to the coat rack to grab his jacket before pausing underneath the living room’s entryway to shrug it on. He winced and froze as a sharp pain ran through his chest. Arthur squeezed his eyes shut as he used his cane to brace himself. He opened them again when he felt gentle hands maneuvering the fabric over his broad shoulders and was unsurprised to find it was Albert helping him. He had started to thank the photographer when he noticed John’s wide, shit-eating grin from where he stood by the door. 

“The hell you smirkin’ at, Marston?” Arthur huffed, clearly annoyed.

John didn’t say a word. If anything, his grin only became wider as his eyes flicked upward before meeting Arthur’s again. Arthur followed suit, and he felt his face flush instantly when he caught sight of the mistletoe hanging above him.

“You know the rules, can’t back out of this one,” John teased.

Confused, Albert looked over his shoulder before looking up. He then smiled shyly at Arthur, his cheeks suddenly resembling roses in full bloom. “He’s right.”

He shot John a look, although it didn’t last long before Albert turned his face towards his. Their lips met in a tender kiss, and Arthur allowed it to last a moment before pulling away and glaring at John.

“Happy?” 

“Very,”

It was decided that Charles would drive the Bronco and that they would follow the Marstons’ ten-year-old Corolla. The trip hardly took them ten minutes, and Arthur couldn’t help but laugh when he read an archway’s sign before they drove underneath it.

“John’s takin’ us to Santa’s workshop?” He managed to say between bits of laughter that made him wince. “This is a damn kiddie park!”

“At least Jack will enjoy it,” Charles mused with a wry grin.

“John too,” he snickered.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to find something to do,” Albert said as they found a parking spot.

“Yeah, sit around freezing our asses off, that’s what we’ll be doing,”

Charles reached over and lightly smacked him on his left thigh. “It’s Christmas, Arthur, try to be a little more positive for once.”

He replied with a grunt and eased himself out of the truck with Albert’s help. When they rejoined the Marstons, John tried to blame the local he’d been chatting with for the mixup. Charles reassured him that all was well and insisted that as long as Jack enjoyed it, the mistake was worth its weight in gold.

As John and Abigail took Jack to explore the park, Charles excused himself to take a look at the gift shop to see if there was anything worth buying for Jack. A lit fire pit caught Albert’s eye, and he smiled as he took Arthur’s free hand in his and led him over to a bench beside it. Albert found the warmth of the fire combined with the ambiance of the Christmas village surrounding them delightful, and he wrapped his arms around Arthur’s as he rested his head on his shoulder. 

“You know, we might be sitting around, but at least we’re not freezing our asses off,” 

A low chuckle rumbled in Arthur’s chest. “You ain’t wrong.”

He grinned as his eyes flicked up from the fire to a quaint building that was labeled as Santa’s house. Albert admired the string lights that lined the roof and the bright red doors as he recalled childhood memories that had a special place in his heart. He hadn’t always felt disjointed from his family, and the holiday used to be wonderfully magical for both him and Heather. A curious thought then occurred to him as he lifted his head and looked over at Arthur. The dancing shadows cast by the light from the fire brought out his sharp features, and it made the photographer’s heart skip a few beats. 

“Did you believe in Santa when you were a child?” 

Arthur’s eyebrows drew together at the unexpected question as he met Albert’s gaze. “Sure, for a short while.”

“What was one thing you asked for?” 

“It used to be toys up until my mother died, was never nothing special or noteworthy. Then my daddy turned mean, and for a while, I used to ask for a new one.” He then smiled wistfully. “I guess I eventually got two of ‘em.” 

Albert intertwined his fingers with Arthur’s. “And what about now? If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?” 

A wide smile stretched across Arthur’s face as he lifted the hand he was holding up to his lips. “I have everything I could ever want right here.”

The sincerity in his eyes was unmistakable, and Albert felt his eyes brimming with tears for the second time that day. He did his best to blink them away before wiping them with the sleeve of his jacket and chuckled to himself, feeling only mildly embarrassed and mostly grateful. “I must be the luckiest man in the world.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he laughed. “I’m not the easiest person to love.”

“For me you are. I’ve never loved anyone the way that I love you, nor been so sure of anything else in my whole life.”

Arthur swallowed, feeling a sudden surge of emotion he couldn't quite explain. What Albert described to him had been what his heart had been singing for a while now. It was what he had been trying to say, and it was nearly overwhelming being reminded that Albert felt the same way. Arthur’s throat felt tight with emotion, and instead of saying anything, he leaned forward and captured Albert’s lips in a kiss. The photographer smiled as he deepened it, pulling Arthur closer by the scarf wrapped around his neck. As they kissed, flurries of snow began to fall around them. However, the two of them didn’t notice until they parted to catch their breath, the air falling from their lips forming thick clouds that dissipated as quickly as they appeared. Albert looked up at a street light that illuminated the flakes that glittered in the warm light. Yet while the photographer watched the falling snow, Arthur’s gaze stayed on Albert as he admired how the snowflakes stood out against his dark beard and eyelashes. 

The sight was utterly mesmerizing, beautiful even. It was a dream come true, one that felt like it belonged in a Hallmark movie or fairy tale. For the longest time, his life had been full of tragedy and adversity, but not anymore. While he was still sorting out his complicated past life and its consequences, he had everything he’d ever wanted. He had a family made of incredible friends as well as the love of his life. Albert had been the one initially searching for Arcadia, the perfect life out in the countryside, but Arthur couldn’t help but think that maybe he’d found his own kind of Arcadia. His own perfect life at the base of the breathtaking Colorado Rocky Mountains with the few people he held near and dear to his heart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy FRICK y'all
> 
> Here we are! We've finally reached the end (maybe)! There may be an epilogue, but we'll see! Thanks for sticking around, and I truly hope you enjoyed the ride! Your support and comments have been absolutely lovely and encouraging <3
> 
> I have a few more rdr2 fics in the works, so if you're interested, feel free to subscribe or linger! 
> 
> Also, a special thank you to Caps_Kat and toadmaniaboy! They've been a wonderful help with beta reads, ideas, guidance, etc. <3 And ALSO thank you pipdepop for the wonderful idea of Charles sending a letter!
> 
> Also also, I might post links to place claims (places I ussd as a reference for houses/apartments/stores/etc) and what not if people are interested


	19. A/N: Place Claims and Fanart!

Howdy friends! 

 

I am absolutely overwhelmed (in the best way) by all your comments and support for this fic! Words cannot express how grateful I am for the love you guys are giving this piece <3

There will definitely be an epilogue of sorts, and maybe even a few one-shots, but I intend to take a brief break from this fic first. There are others in the works that are unrelated to  _Quest for Arcadia_ , and I hope to post at least one of them soon.

In the meantime, here are some place claims and fanart for  _Quest for Arcadia_!

 

**Fanart:**

 

First things first, please please _please_ check out this BEAUTIFUL fanart by my lovely friend Caps_Kat!! It's so soft and lovely! Here's the link:

<https://capskat26.tumblr.com/post/187947711811>

 

 

**Place Claims:**

 

Manitou Springs Log Home

I wish I could buy this place! It's absolutely stunning, and I can't pick just one picture, so here's the Zillow link!

<https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/3230-Black-Canyon-Rd-Colorado-Springs-CO-80904/82404291_zpid/?>

 

Albert's Alaskan Air BnB

Same as the first, I can't pick just one picture. It's a lovely apartment!

<https://www.vrbo.com/1257693?adultsCount=2>

 

Alaskan Town of Hanover (fictional)

I based Hanover on a town in Colorado called Telluride (left) and the harbor area off Unalaska (right). Cairn, another fictional town, is pretty similar to Hanover, except it's a little less charming and more practical. 

   

 

Santa's Workshop: North Pole, Colorado

I was pleasantly surprised to stumble upon this little gem that just so happens to be ten minutes away from Manitou Springs! Here are a few pictures to give you an idea of the place.

      

 

Have a lovely weekend! <3


	20. Epilogue

February 

 

Arthur stared at the flip phone in his hand. With a furrowed brow, he turned the device over, as if getting a feel for it. The idea of owning a phone had been unthinkable just a few months ago, and while it was a prepaid phone, he still couldn’t shake the sense of dread he felt. He had spent years avoiding any and all communication devices, had been taught to detest the thought. Dutch and Hosea had drilled into him the dangers of owning anything that was possibly trackable, and it wasn’t until now that he realized how ingrained their teaching had become. 

He drew a deep breath as he flipped it open and eyed the screen. Getting a phone had been entirely Arthur’s idea, had been for a while now. No one had suggested it to him, and Arthur had set out earlier that morning to get one himself. Being cleared to drive meant that he could finally do something about the nagging fear he felt in the back of his mind. After all, it had been the lack of a phone that had nearly ended his life back in Alaska. That, and letting his guard down. Arthur had barely arrived at the hospital alive, and it was either by sheer luck or a miracle that he had been able to drive himself to his house, and Albert coming along to Alaska had been its own godsend. 

He only looked up when he heard the stairs creak as Albert made his way downstairs and into the living room. Albert flashed a sleepy smile at him as he adjusted the forest green robe he’d shrugged on.

“Good morning, Arthur!”

“Mornin’,”

His head tilted as his eyes lowered to the opened phone in his hands. “What’s that you have there?”

Arthur couldn’t help but smirk, his cheeky reply rolling off his tongue all too easily. “A phone.”

Albert rolled his eyes. “Well, I figured that! It may be outdated, but I know a flip phone when I see one! Perhaps a better question is _whose_ phone.”

“It’s mine,”

This made the photographer stop in his tracks. He looked Arthur over, examining him closely with a furrowed brow before he sat beside him. “You bought a phone? Why?”

Arthur’s eyes lowered to the device that seemed so small in the palm of his hand. “I dunno, just seemed like a good idea. Figure we’re safe now, and I ain’t part of the gang no more. It’s one of those pay as you go phones anyway.”

He was quiet as he considered his words, and Arthur only hoped he didn’t completely see through him. The truth was that Arthur hadn’t been the same since the incident in Alaska. Over the last two months, the idea of owning a phone had grown on him, and somehow, he had managed to hide most of the damage his near-death experience had left on his mind. Whenever Albert or Charles had tried to get him to talk about it, he’d quickly change the subject with a quip or a question. Yet underneath his easy-going veneer, his mind was a turbulent mess. In addition to the trauma he was attempting to navigate on his own, he couldn't help but wonder if Dutch would somehow uncover the truth about his faked death. Dutch would no doubt share the news with Micah, and if Micah caught wind of his whereabouts, the man would either finish the job he'd started or worse. 

It was the latter that struck the most fear into his heart. Just the mere thought made his mouth go dry and his chest grow tight. Arthur couldn't bear the thought of something happening to the Marstons, Charles, or Albert because of him. 

Purchasing a phone seemed to be the only logical next step. It was a preventative measure of sorts, something Arthur could use if another worst-case scenario were to happen.

Albert’s hand intertwining with his snapped him out of his musings and he looked up to meet the photographer’s concerned gaze. 

“Is that the only reason?” Albert asked. 

“Well, it is the twenty-first century,” he quipped as he forced a smile, “kinda _have_ to have a phone nowadays.”

“But you were just fine in Alaska without one,”

“And I can count on one hand where Cairn had cell reception,” he huffed. “A cell phone was just an expensive paperweight out there.”

Albert raised an eyebrow. He didn’t buy a single word of what he was saying, but the more Albert pried, the more defensive he became. The last thing Albert wanted to do was to make Arthur prickly and defensive first thing that morning, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something the man wasn’t telling him.

“Arthur, you know I’m here for you, right? You can talk to me about anything.”

“I know,” he squeezed his hand, “I know.”

Albert studied him, his warm eyes searching Arthur’s for a moment longer before rising to his feet. “I think we’re long overdue for a little adventure, don’t you think? I’m going to get dressed, and then I’m taking you to a small coffee shop I’ve found online. You’ve been cooped up in this house a little too long if you ask me.”

He exhaled a huff and snapped his cell shut before tucking it away in his pocket. “I’m a grown-ass man, Al. I can handle it. ‘Sides, I was just out at Walmart this morning. Ain’t that enough of a venture?”

“It might’ve been, but we certainly weren’t together,” he smiled as he scratched the back of his neck, “I’ve missed going out and wandering aimlessly with you.”

Arthur blinked. The thought hadn’t occurred to him, but it did explain the persistent  itch he felt underneath his skin. He hadn’t enjoyed being mostly bedridden and limited in his outings the last two months, and the more he thought about it, the more he realized the source of most of his irritability had been a longing to do something with the photographer. They hadn’t been able to go out as they used to for a long while, and Arthur had to agree that an outing was long overdue. 

“Well, when you put that way, sure,” Arthur mused as he rose to his feet. “I’ve missed that too.”

Albert smiled from ear to ear. “Excellent! I’ll drive.”

The coffee shop was only a few minutes down the road and located in Manitou Springs. As they passed the quaint storefronts that lined the street, Arthur was reminded of how many similarities the small town shared with Hanover. While the Rockies were just hills compared to the Ambarino Mountains in Cairn, it was charming nonetheless. If anything, the biggest difference seemed to be the size of the town. Hanover was only a fourth of the size of Manitou Springs, and Arthur was reminded of this when Albert had to make a loop through the town and stop in front of the coffee shop to let him out.

“I’d rather you save your energy for something other than walking to and from a parking space that could be in Timbuktu for all we know,” Albert said.

As much as he wanted to, Arthur didn’t have the chance to argue before the impatient driver behind them beeped his horn. All Arthur could do was scowl, step out of the car, and flip off the stranger as he crossed the street. The driver revved the engine of the old BMW in response and drove off once Albert had made his turn. The car backfired loudly as it struggled to accelerate, and the sound nearly made Arthur jump out of his skin. He hastily sat in the metal chair outside the coffee shop as his hand clutched his chest.

The bang had sounded far too much like a gunshot, and Arthur squeezed his eyes shut as the vivid image of Micah behind the barrel of a gun filled his mind. The pounding of his heart filled his head as his lungs seized up, and he felt a fiery pain settle in his chest. The backfire of an engine was nothing new to him, and he mentally scolded himself for how it still triggered the memory of his incident with Micah. It was a struggle for Arthur to keep his grasp on reality, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d sat there like that before he felt a hand on his arm. Arthur’s eyes snapped open, and he was quick to grab the wrist belonging to the hand. The response was automatic, and it was the surprised ‘ow’ that was distinctly Albert’s that pulled him back to reality.

Arthur instantly let go as he looked up at him. The photographer’s eyes were wide with worry, and Arthur felt a pang of guilt for the mild fright he’d caused him. “Shit, Al, are you alright?”

“I’m fine. You just surprised me.” Albert said as he massaged his wrist, his eyes examining him. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” his reply was more curt than he intended it to be, and he cleared his throat as he rose to his feet. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“Positive,” he replied. “Although, I’m not sure if the same can be said for you.”

“Me? I’m right as rain.” 

His brow furrowed. “Arthur…”

“Honest,”

He sighed. “Love, you aren’t ever obligated to tell me what’s going on, but it’s another thing to lie about it.”

Arthur’s eyes dropped to the ground. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Albert gave his hand a gentle squeeze before giving his cheek a quick peck. “Come on, let’s get our coffee.”

Once they had received their orders, they found a seat at a small counter along the floor to ceiling window. While Arthur was relieved that Albert didn’t pry any further, he felt a twinge of guilt for keeping him out. Trust, however, wasn’t the issue. Arthur trusted the photographer with his life, would even follow him into hell if he was asked to. What kept Arthur silent was his fear of acknowledging something was wrong. He’d already taken enough of everyone’s time between his two weeks spent in the hospital, uprooting to Colorado, and his slow recovery. Troubling either Albert or Charles any further was the last thing Arthur wanted to do. 

After all, this wasn’t his first time navigating trauma. Surely, he could navigate it again, and come out on the other end of it okay.

At least, that was what he tried to convince himself. Deep down, Arthur knew better, and it scared him. It unnerved him that Micah had been able to do so much damage to both his mind and body, and he hated it.

It wasn’t until he looked up and found Albert examining him with his keen eyes that he realized he’d let his mind wander for far too long. He tried offering a smile, but Albert only continued to study him as if he was a photo he’d painstakingly taken.

“I think it would be good for you if we did something physical,” he finally said as if he’d found the proper remedy for Arthur’s unspoken troubles.

Arthur couldn’t help but smirk at his wording. “I always enjoy our _physical activities_.”

Albert’s cheeks instantly flushed bright red. “You know what I mean!”

“I’m not sure if I do,” he chuckled.

He rolled his eyes and tried to hide his blushing by taking a sip of his coffee. “There’s an ice skating rink in Colorado Springs. If you’re feeling up to it, maybe we could spend some time there.” 

Arthur agreed to the idea. He'd never been ice skating before, but it couldn’t be too hard. Going ice skating, he figured, would also take Albert’s mind off him for a while, and he was more than willing to do anything to ease his partner’s worries. When they got to the rink, Albert took out his wallet to pay before returning it to his back pocket once again. Arthur frowned, noticing that the photographer had only pushed the leather wallet halfway into his pocket. There was no doubt it would either fall out or get stolen if left that way, and Arthur took it upon himself to help. 

Except instead of simply pushing the wallet down the rest of the way, Arthur dipped his whole hand into Albert’s pocket. Albert jumped at feeling Arthur’s hand suddenly against his rear, noticing how it had lingered (albeit briefly) before sliding out of his pocket. He turned and found Arthur grinning smugly to himself.

“Was that necessary?” 

He shrugged. “Your wallet was gonna fall out, so I reckon it was.”

Albert gave him a chastising look before giving into a grin. He would pay him back for the cheeky move later.

Once they had received their skates, they took a seat on a bench outside the rink to put them on. Arthur wasn’t quite sure what to expect when he rose to his feet, but the sensation of having to balance his weight on just two blades left him feeling unsteady, and he had to brace himself against the wall to regain his balance. Albert, on the other hand, stood without a problem, and he looked over Arthur curiously.

“When was the last time you went skating, Arthur? I don’t think I asked you.”

He shook his head. “I ain’t ever been before.”

Albert blinked. “Never?”

“Nope,”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything I suppose,” he smiled. “Come on, I’ll help you!”

Walking, it turned out, was at least manageable. In fact, Albert made sure Arthur was comfortable with walking first before they even entered the skating rink. The photographer stepped out onto the ice first before he beckoned for Arthur to follow, instructing him to hold onto the wall if he had to.

And hold onto the wall he did. Arthur clung to it like a cat desperately trying to avoid a bath, and Albert couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he skated over to his side. Albert explained the simple gliding motion to him, pushing off with one foot and alternating between the two. Although, not even his thorough teaching or instruction could get Arthur to let go of the wall.

“You’re going to have to let go at _some_ point or another,” Albert said.

“I’m just fine here at this pace,” he replied as he continued to pull himself along the wall. “Don’t let me keep you from skating.”

Albert rolled his eyes and positioned himself in front of him with outstretched hands, and it surprised Arthur how much grace the photographer had on the ice. “Do you trust me?”

“I do,” he replied. It felt like an oath on his lips, and the sincerity of it made Albert smile.

“Then take my hands,”

Arthur only hesitated for a second before he let go of the wall and held on tight to his hands. As Albert began to pull him along as he skated backward, Arthur’s eyes flicked down to his skates. It caused him to start to lose his balance, and he instinctively tightened his grip on Albert’s hands.

“Keep your eyes on me, Arthur, I’ve got you,”

He did as he was told and lifted his gaze to meet Albert’s.

They continued like that for a full lap before Albert changed it up and skated by Arthur’s side. He was improving with each lap, although he refused to let go of Albert’s left hand.

“I never knew you could skate so well,” Arthur said after a while.

“My sister and I used to take lessons, although I stopped when I was about twelve or so,”

He nodded to himself and opened his mouth to reply when one of his blades got caught on a deep groove in the ice that he hadn’t seen. It threw off his balance, and Arthur tried using Albert to stabilize him. The attempt, much to his dismay, was unsuccessful, and only resulted in him pulling Albert down with him. Arthur grimaced as the photographer landed on top of him before laughing. Between hitting the ice and Albert falling onto his chest, it had hurt, but Arthur couldn’t help but be amused by the position they’d found themselves in. Albert’s face was only a few inches above his own, and his hands had gone out to brace himself just above Arthur's shoulders. It took Albert a moment to grasp what had happened, and when he did, he ended up joining Arthur in his laughter.

“That was intentional!” Albert teased.

“It wasn’t, I swear!”

“That’s what they all say,”

“Whatever,” he huffed, “now get off me before I tickle you.”

“So bossy,” he tsked as he picked himself up and offered Arthur a hand, “and to think you were just fine being handsy thirty minutes ago.”

He smirked as he was helped up. “Touche.” 

They skated for a little while longer until Arthur’s leg began to protest. After returning their skates, they drove over to a nearby restaurant in town that, according to Albert’s research, had amazing reviews. Much to Arthur’s relief, there was a parking spot just outside the restaurant’s entrance. While the pain in his leg was tolerable, he didn’t fancy the idea of walking a block or two.

Albert withdrew his keys from the ignition and looked over at Arthur. “How’s your leg?”

“Fine,” he lied.

“Did you bring your cane?”

“No,”

“Arthur…”

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted, “besides, we’ll be sitting down for our lunch anyway.”

Albert sighed but said nothing as they exited the car.

When they approached the hostess, she informed them that there was a long wait and that they could occupy themselves at the bar in the meantime. Having nothing better to do, they found a place at the bar’s counter and took a seat. After Arthur had ordered a whiskey, Albert placed his order for an Irish coffee. He cocked an eyebrow at the photographer as the bartender walked away to get their drinks.

“You ain’t gettin’ a whiskey?”

“Not this time, although the drink does technically have _some_ whiskey in it,”

“Aw come on, don't you want to relive the last time we were downing whiskey shots?” He teased.

Albert laughed. “No! In fact, making a fool out of myself is the _last_ thing I want to do this afternoon. I’m our designated driver anyway, so even getting tipsy is out of the question.”

“I appreciate that,” he replied before thanking the bartender for his whiskey. “Next time I’ll be the designated driver.”

“As you wish,” Albert said as he pulled out his wallet to pay their tab.

They chatted idly, taking the time to enjoy the other’s company. The whiskey was just what Arthur needed, easing his muscles that were already starting to ache. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done so much physical activity, and he was oddly grateful for the pain. The pain was evidence that he had done more than just sit around all day. He had accomplished something, had even learned something new, and the thought reassured him that he was still making progress in his lengthy recovery.

As Arthur finished off his whiskey, he felt someone bump into him from behind. He turned just in time to find a petite woman hastily making her exit. Usually, he wouldn’t have given the moment a second thought, but an all too familiar wallet in her hand had caught his eye as she pushed her way through the door. It was Albert’s, and Arthur swore under his breath as he made the split-second decision to chase after her.

The pain in his leg came to life as he pursued her, but Arthur was too stubborn to let it keep him from rescuing Albert’s wallet. He heard Albert call after him as he chased her down the street, but he was too caught up in the chase to pay any mind to what the photographer was trying to say. The woman had picked the wrong man to rob, and Arthur was determined to retrieve what had been stolen.

Despite aggravating his injuries, Arthur managed to catch up and he seized her wrist as he skidded to a halt. “Hey! That ain’t yours!”

She nearly tripped over her own feet as she was forced to come to a stop. As she spun around, her wide eyes met his and Arthur felt his breath catch. 

They stared at each other, both at a loss for words for what felt like a long while.

It was Arthur who found his tongue first. “Mary-Beth?” 

“Arthur?” She seemed just as surprised as he was, if not more. “I thought—Micah said...and Charles sent that letter! Goodness, is it—is it really you?”

“It is,” he swallowed as he let go of her wrist. “Now the wallet, if you would be so kind.”

She nodded and handed it over to him. “I’m sorry, your friend was so oblivious to his surroundings and I just couldn’t help myself.”

He chuckled as he tucked Albert’s wallet into his pocket. “Yeah, that’s Albert for ya.”

Mary-Beth studied him intently, her bright eyes swimming with emotion. Then all at once, she hugged him tightly. “We all thought you were dead.”

He wrapped his arms around her. “I know.”

“Was that what you really wanted?”

He sighed. “No, not really, but it gave me one helluva way out. I never intended to fake my death, but Micah left me no choice when he tried gunnin’ me down.”

“Oh, Arthur, I’m so sorry,” she said as she pulled away and cupped the side of his face with her hand. “I knew I never liked that skeevy bastard for a reason.”

“That makes two of us,” he chuckled.

The sound of someone running over to them reached Arthur’s ears, and he turned just in time to see Albert round the corner. He was absolutely breathless, and he had to lean forward and brace himself against his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. Arthur couldn’t help but grin as the photographer held up a finger, signaling he needed a moment as he panted heavily before he finally straightened himself.

By the time Albert had raised his eyes to fully assess the sight before him, Mary-Beth had returned her hand to her side. She’d never met the fellow before, but judging by the way Arthur’s eyes sparkled when they’d settled on the gentleman, he meant a lot to Arthur. There was no mistaking that. Even she could see it despite her former affections for him. Before meeting Kieran, she used to allow herself to imagine what her life would be like if Arthur returned those feelings, but seeing him as happy as he was now was its own reward. Her desire to see Arthur truly happy far outweighed anything she desired for herself. Of course, she still admired the man greatly. Nothing would ever change that, but now she found herself exchanging her romantic perspective for one that valued their deep, platonic friendship. 

No, she thought. What they had was far deeper than that, and Mary-Beth concluded that it was more of a kinship than anything else. 

Arthur’s bright eyes meeting hers pulled her out of her deep musings. “Mary-Beth, I’d like you to meet Albert Mason. He’s my, uh, we’re—”

“We’re together,” Albert said with a reassuring smile that was more directed towards Arthur before he reached forward to shake her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

“Likewise,” she beamed.

“How do you two know each other?”

“She joined the gang a few years ago,” he then turned to her, the glint in his eyes disappearing all at once at the thought. “How is the gang, anyway?”

Mary-Beth shook her head. “Not well, I’m afraid. I think just about all of us left it after we thought you died. Losing both you and Hosea left its mark, and Lenny was the first to leave. No one quite knows where he went. Then Tilly followed suite, up and left with a charming young businessman, and Karen and Sean followed soon after.”

He swallowed, and she could’ve sworn she saw fear flicker behind his eyes. “And Miss Grimshaw?"

“Oh, she and I moved out here about a month ago! Kieren joined us and is working on a ranch not too far from here.”

Arthur relaxed at that before cocking an eyebrow, his easy-going demeanor returning as quickly as it left. “So you left the gang just to go back to thievin’ again?”

She lightly swatted his arm for the playful jab. “You try payin’ rent while working a waitressing job and trying to get your writing published!” 

“You’re a writer?” Albert asked, his interest clearly piqued.

“Yessir, although not a published one,”

“You know, I just so happen to have a few friends who work for a publishing company in New York. If you’re interested, I can get you connected with them.”

Mary-Beth blinked, completely stunned by the gentleman’s offer. She hardly knew him, yet he was genuinely willing to help. “You’d really do that?”

“Of course! Anything to help a fellow artist.”

She smiled. Arthur _would_ fall for an artist who was so incredibly kind and sincere. “Thank you! I really appreciate that.”

“My pleasure,” he replied.

Mary-Beth turned to Arthur. “I know it ain’t none of my business, but if you have the time to spare, Miss Grimshaw would love to see that you’re alive and well.”

Arthur hesitated, his eyes darting to Albert. It was one thing to accidentally bump into a fellow gang member, former or not, but to purposefully reconnect with one? The thought had roused Arthur’s fears, aggravating them like a den of angry snakes. Albert must’ve noticed because it was soon after Mary-Beth’s suggestion that he found his hand in Albert’s. Although the photographer said nothing as he patiently waited for Arthur to make the call.

Albert’s unspoken reassurance helped settle his fears, and he drew a deep breath before meeting Mary-Beth’s eyes again. Surely he could trust Miss Grimshaw. If she of all people had finally left Dutch’s side, then certainly she had no desire to relay any information to the man.

“Mind if I pay her a visit now?” He finally asked.

“Oh not at all! Between losin’ you and Hosea, she’s...well, she’s in a bad way. Seeing you would be just the thing she needs.”

Arthur nodded before glancing over at Albert. “You’re more than welcome to come, Al, but there’s no hard feelings if you decide not to.”

“Are you kidding me?” He replied. “I’d be more than happy to come along.”

 

Arthur drew a deep breath as he followed Mary-Beth up the stairs to her apartment. During their ascent, he had to pause once and lean against the railing. Normally, the stairs wouldn't have bothered him, but today hadn't exactly been a normal day. 

Mary-Beth looked him over as worry pooled in her gut. She'd never seen him quite like this before. Arthur had always been the muscle of their gang, the one who was always able to pick himself up after a fight. Seeing him so lean and in pain, even months after receiving the news of his “death”, made her wonder just what exactly had transpired between Micah and Arthur. 

When they reached her apartment, Mary-Beth opened the door and led them inside. Through the window on the other side of the apartment, Arthur could see Susan sitting in a folding chair and smoking a cigarette on the patio. He drew a deep breath and made his way over to the patio door before stepping outside. 

Grimshaw continued to stare into the distance at nothing in particular. There was a forlorn look in her eye as she took a drag. "Leave me be, Mary-Beth. I ain't in the mood to talk."

"Then how about some quiet company instead?" He replied.

She dropped her cigarette and spun around to face him with wide eyes. There were only a handful of times he'd seen her so surprised, and he couldn't help but offer her a smile.

"Arthur? I though—"

"I know,"

"But you're…?"

"I am,"

She looked him over as she rose to her feet. Seeing him alive and well was the best thing to happen to her in a long while, but it also filled her with indignation. She walked over intending to slap him, although Arthur must've known because he pulled her into a hug before she could. 

Susan gave into the embrace, her ire fizzling out as quickly as it had come. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, fisting her hands into his jacket. Her voice was nearly a whisper when she finally spoke. "I thought I'd lost everything."

"I'm sorry, Miss Grimshaw, but I had no choice,"

"For a while, I refused to believe a single word of what Micah told us. Something about it didn't sit right, but then Dutch got Charles' letter and," her lungs hitched, "I had no choice but to believe him."

Arthur kissed the top of her head as she cried into his shoulder. 

After a while, she pulled away and tried drying her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. Arthur reached into one of his pockets and handed her a tissue. 

She grinned as her gaze settled on the tissue in his hand. "I have a hard time believing that's unused."

"It's perfectly fine!"

"And since when did _you_ ever carry tissues around with you?" She asked as she took it and dried her eyes.

"Since Albert, or at least since we moved out here with Charles. To be quite honest with you, I mostly carry them around for him."

"And who the hell is this Albert?"

"Join me inside and I’ll introduce the two of you,"

When Arthur reentered the apartment, he was pleased to find Mary-Beth and Albert happily chatting and getting along. Arthur cleared his throat, and Albert looked up and rose to his feet as they came over. 

"Miss Grimshaw, this is Albert Mason. We've been together for a few months now. Al, this is Miss Susan Grimshaw."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Albert said. 

"And you as well," she replied, "have you been taking care of my boy?"

Arthur groaned at the phrasing of her question before answering for the photographer. "I wouldn't be alive right now if it weren't for him."

"Please," Albert said as he sat back down, "I wouldn't quite say that."

"Don't listen to him, it's true. Without him, I would've bled out behind the wheel before even making it to the hospital."

"So...what happened exactly?" Mary-Beth asked.

Arthur sighed and took a seat beside Albert on the couch before explaining what had happened. He refused to go into too much detail, claiming that he didn't remember some things when the girls asked questions he wasn't ready to answer. 

"If I ever see that filthy son of a bitch again I swear I'll slit his throat," Grimshaw muttered.

Arthur shook his head. "What's done is done. I used to care about that, but now I realize it don't matter. What matters is that those I love and care about are safe."

She clearly disagreed but said nothing more as she stood. "Have you boys had any lunch yet?"

"We haven't,"

"Stay for lunch then,"

Arthur looked over at Albert. "Is that alright with you?"

"I don't mind at all," 

They ate the table and talked about life and all that had happened in the last few months. Mary-Beth had, of course, asked how Arthur and Albert had met and how they discovered their love for each other. Arthur had instantly flushed at the unexpected question while Albert answered without hesitation.

“Around mid-October, I decided to try my hand at wildlife photography and took a trip out to Alaska. Although, I ended up being better at getting myself into precarious situations, and I was lucky enough to have Arthur show up just when I needed him. He’s saved my life on more than one occasion, but it took me falling through some ice for us to confess our feelings for each other.”

“How romantic!” Mary-Beth swooned. 

Arthur wasn’t sure how a near-death experience could be romantic, but he said nothing of it. That was Mary-Beth, a hopeless romantic through and through, and she didn’t mean anything by it anyway. 

They had been chatting for a while longer when Kieran showed up, and the poor boy looked like he’d seen a ghost. To say that the sight of Arthur sitting in their dining room shocked him would’ve been an understatement. He’d nearly dropped his bag from the freight it caused, and his eyes darted between Mary-Beth, Grimshaw, and Albert as he tried to get his bearings.

“A-Arthur? I thought—”

“Yeah, so did everyone else,” Arthur interrupted as patiently as he could manage. He’d heard the same thing phrased differently nearly three times that day, and it was wearing on him in more ways than one.

Mary-Beth turned to him and gestured for him to come over. “I’ll explain it all later, but until then, why don’t you come join us?”

He was more than happy to, and Arthur once again took the time to introduce Albert. The photographer was quickly becoming well acquainted with his former gang members, and while Albert got along well with each of them, Arthur couldn’t help but notice that the thought only kindled his smoldering fears.

  


Arthur awoke with a start, his eyes snapping open as his lungs pulled in quick, ragged breaths. As he stared at the ceiling, he tried to regain his grasp of reality as the remnants of his nightmare began to fade. His damp shirt clung to his body, and he ran a trembling hand through his hair with a shaky exhale. In a bitter attempt to distract himself, he sat up and stared at the curtains that were illuminated by the soft glow of the full moon. One glance at his watch told him it was only three in the morning, and he sighed as he stood and quietly exited the room.

He made his way down the stairs and sat on the couch with his head in his hands. Nightmares weren't anything new to him. In fact, he'd had them almost every other night after the incident, and over time he had built up a tolerance to his dreams that mercilessly dredged up the memory. But that was back in December. It was now February, and this time his nightmare had played on his worst fears of losing those he cared most about, and Arthur concluded that his conversation earlier that day with Mary-Beth and Miss Grimshaw had reawakened his nightmares. 

A light turning on startled him, and he lifted his head to see Albert walking over to him. Arthur heaved a sigh as the photographer sat beside him.

"Sorry I woke you," he said.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," he replied as he ran his hand along his back in soothing circles.

Arthur relaxed into the gentle touch, closing his eyes as he rested his head against Albert's shoulder.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He was silent for a while before he finally spoke. Arthur was tired of telling half-truths to Albert, and he had the perfect opportunity to give the photographer a glimpse of the things that plagued his mind. "I guess I'm...I'm afraid. I'm afraid that this life we've made won't last, and that something's gonna happen to either you, Charles, or the Marstons because of me."

"What do you mean?"

"If Micah finds out I'm alive, who the hell knows what he'll do next. He knows how I feel about you, and how much you mean to me. What if he comes back and I ain't around to protect you? What if I _can't_ protect you?"

Albert gently shushed him as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "He's not going to find us."

"You don't know that,"

"Okay, maybe not, but if he wanted you dead before and thinks you're dead, then perhaps the possibility that you survived isn't even on his mind," he paused as he thought over Arthur’s words, "is that what made you decide to get a phone?"

“Yeah, I wanted to have one in case something happened,”

“You know you could’ve told me that, right? I knew something had been bothering you for the last few weeks.”

He sighed. “I know, I just didn’t want to trouble you with more of my shit.”

“Trouble us? I don’t understand.”

“You and Charles have done so much for me, have sacrificed days and weeks of your time, and I didn’t want to burden you with my silly fears.” 

“What you went through was traumatic, Arthur. In fact, it worried me how little you talked about the whole thing. You’ve never troubled us, and you sure as hell aren’t a burden.”

“You’re too kind to me, Al,” he said.

“Well, I do love you, Arthur. I’m not entirely sure why that still surprises you.” Albert teased as he rose to his feet. 

Arthur stayed where he was and watched the photographer as he walked over to the turntable on a shelf of vinyls. He thumbed through the different records before finally pulling one out and carefully removing it from its sleeve. It was a forty-five, and as the song began to play, Arthur couldn’t help but smile when he recognized its familiar melody.

“That’s ‘Moonlight Serenade’,” he noted.

“You know this one?”

“My mother loved this song, it’s one of the few things I remember about her. She and my daddy used to dance to it all the time.”

“It’s a beautiful piece,” Albert smiled, made his way back over to Arthur, and offered his hand, “would you care for this dance?”

Arthur felt a flush creep into his cheeks as he lowered his eyes to Albert’s hand. “I’m afraid I ain’t very good at dancing.”

“Please, it doesn’t matter if you’ve been on _Dancing with the Stars_ or have two left feet! I would love for you to join me regardless of your skill or lack thereof.”

He shook his head but decided to humor Albert by taking his hand. The photographer beamed as he pulled him toward the center of the living room and placed his free hand on Arthur’s hip. He began to lead him in a slow and easy waltz, quietly coaching him as they danced in place.

“You know, Charles won’t be happy if we wake him up,”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” he quipped, “and besides, it’s not like we’re doing the tango or the quickstep.”

He wrinkled his nose. “The what?”

Albert laughed as he pulled him closer, and wrapped his arm around Arthur’s waist. “Don’t worry about it.”

They continued to dance to the recorded orchestra, and as Arthur got the hang of it (and not without stepping on Albert’s toes twice), he rested his forehead against Albert’s and closed his eyes. The melodic ballad, combined with Albert’s warm embrace, made Arthur’s worries fade away. For the first time in a long time, he had confidence that they would be able to face whatever the future held for them. They would do it together, and even if it turned out to be too much for them, there was always the Marstons and Charles to help if the need were to arise.

The thought removed a weight from his shoulders that he’d stubbornly, and unnecessarily, carried for far too long. Between the lifted burden and Albert’s closeness as he led him in a waltz, Arthur felt like he could fly. The combination of such pleasant emotions was dizzying, but he was too content to care. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends our quest! At least I think it does!
> 
> I know I mentioned I was going to take a break, but my inspiration said otherwise. 
> 
> Also, a special thank you to Caps_Kat for the ice skating/dance inspiration! Her absolutely ADORABLE fanart for this fic triggered the idea to have Albert and Arthur dance. If you haven't checked out her art yet, please please please do so! It's amazing and the link to it is in the previous chapter. <3
> 
> It has been a wild ride and I'm so glad I got to share this with you all! Thank you thank you thank you for your love and support! <3


	21. A/N: Series Update!

Howdy friends!

I just wanted to let you all know that I've added this work into a series. :) The second part is just a series of one-shots of these soft boys. I just thought I'd post an update here in case you were interested!

I can't say enough how thankful I am for all the support and love you've shown this fic and I hope you have a lovely day!

Here's the link:

<https://archiveofourown.org/works/21369118>


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